


Rehabilitation

by dancing_satyr



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Ending for Season 6, Early 20th Century Medical Practice, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancing_satyr/pseuds/dancing_satyr
Summary: Thomas moves to London to make a fresh start. Feeling adrift and desperate for a human connection, he strikes up an unexpected friendship. But the closer they grow, the more friendship doesn't feel like enough.An alternate ending to Season 6 in which Thomas does not become the butler of Downton Abbey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on the idea for this story for a long time and have finally decided to write it! Like most Thomas Barrow fans, I was supremely let down by the way that Downton Abbey ended. Thomas deserves love, and in my version of the story, he is damn well going to get it. Enjoy!

Thomas wet a rag to wipe down the bar, sweeping his hand across the dark pitted wood in broad circular motions. No one had actually consumed any drinks at the bar since the last time he had performed this increasingly familiar ritual after the lunch crowd had cleared out, but he carried on with the task anyway. 

He was having a difficult time keeping still, something he had never had trouble with while standing his post at Downton. Thomas feared that if he were to let his body grow idle even for a moment, his mind might start to ruminate on things that were best left alone for the time being. The past two months of his life had been filled with a great deal of distress and upheaval; he was afraid his thoughts would go on a downward spiral if he let himself dwell on the actions that had led to this moment in which he stood cleaning an already spotless bar in a London pub.

It was an overcast Tuesday afternoon and the pub was relatively empty with only two patrons to tend to. One was a sad, burnt-out little man with sparse stubble and a droopy mouth who had been slumped over his whiskey since Thomas had opened the pub that morning; he suspected the man had been doing much the same thing all night. Thomas reckoned that as long as the man didn’t start vomiting all over the floor, the two of the them would hopefully not have to interact in between refills.

The other occupant was a Mr. Weatherby, who came in every weekday at exactly two o’clock and stayed until exactly three o’clock, foam from his stout clinging to his sizable mustache as he read his daily newspaper from front to back. Weatherby usually said very little to Thomas, save for one conversation sparked by an interest in Thomas’s pocket watch. It so happened that Weatherby and his family owned the antique shop on the corner and he asked Thomas if he cared to sell it. Although the question was asked mostly in fun, there was a flicker of a moment when he gave some thought to actually getting rid of the thing. 

The watch had been given to him by his father, who had in turn received it from Thomas’s grandfather, the very man whose hands had assembled the intricate and ever dependable timepiece. There had been a time in his life when Thomas considered it his most valued possession, but now the memories it held for him of his family and his childhood left a sour taste in his mouth. He had managed a clean break with Downton Abbey, why not split from his past completely? 

Now every afternoon when Mr. Weatherby entered the pub, bringing the faint musty smell of his shop with him, Thomas became just a little more tempted to let him have the damned thing. It wasn’t as though he would ever have a son of his own to give it to, anyhow. Perhaps he might use the money to buy some things to make his spartan room above the pub a little more homey.

Thomas could not say that he was enamored with his new life, but the persistent melancholy that had enveloped him in his last months at the Abbey seemed to have abated somewhat. His anxiety had gone from crushing dread to a niggling unease and the throbbing in his wrists had lessened to a dull but persistent soreness. He was not happy, and didn’t think he ever truly would be, but most of the time he managed to settle into a sense of calm numbness if he kept himself occupied.

Staying occupied, however, usually proved difficult this time of day. As Mr. Weatherby stood and made to leave with a tip of his hat, Thomas was not altogether thrilled with having only the sullen and silent drunk in the corner as company. He was about to make a trip into the kitchen to see if Mrs. Chester would mind the bar so that he could take an early tea break, but the soft open and shut of the door stopped him.

Thomas had always tried to make an effort to school his expression into one of indifference when he noticed a handsome man. However, there were times when Thomas had been so completely overtaken in his attraction that his longing began to seep out from underneath his mask. He knew he had all but drooled on the floor upon meeting Jimmy and he feared he was having a similarly shameful reaction to the man who had just walked through the pub door.

The first thing Thomas observed was the soft blue of the man’s eyes as they darted around the room, seeming a little lost. He took his trilby from his head to nervously twist the brim in his fingers, revealing a close-trimmed mop of light brown curls that gleamed gold under the sunlight streaming in from the window. The man reached up to brush back a few errant strands of hair and approached Thomas at the bar. It wasn’t until the man sat down on one of the stools that Thomas noticed the weary sagging posture and the immoveable furrows along his forehead. 

“I’ll take a single malt scotch, please. Neat,” said the man, revealing an American accent.

Interest piqued, Thomas set about making up the drink order. Perhaps it was simply the man’s good looks, or dejected demeanor, or maybe just the manner in which he made actual eye contact with Thomas - albeit only for one rapid moment - upon thanking him for the scotch, but Thomas felt compelled to say something more than just impersonal pleasantries.

“Bad day?” asked Thomas tentatively. The role of chatty barman was not one that came easily to Thomas and most of the small talk he intended to make with patrons died before it could pass his lips. He put it down to spending so much of his life without friends.

“Pardon?” The man whipped his head up from staring at the (impeccably clean) counter top to meet Thomas’s gaze. Thomas felt his breath stutter in the wake of it.

“I only wondered if you were having a bad day. You look glum, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“No,” said the man, seemingly taken aback by Thomas’s passing interest in his welfare. “I mean, no, I don’t mind you saying.” 

Thomas was beginning to recognize the man as the shy type with the way he kept his voice low and soft. He took care not to look up at Thomas for more than a second at a time and his hands kept tracing over the scotch glass and the knots in the wood of the bar. Upon closer inspection, he looked more out of sorts than Thomas had first realized, nearly on the brink of tears. The man finally picked up his glass, and after hesitating a moment, downed its contents in one go. Wordlessly, Thomas took the glass out of the man’s lax grip and generously refilled it.

“Thank you,” said the man, his blue eyes locking with Thomas’s for another fleeting moment before casting downwards once more. This time, he took a more moderate sip of his drink. “I don’t generally make a habit of indulging in hard liquor on weekday afternoons.”

“No need to justify yourself to me. I see all sorts in here and they all have their reasons,” said Thomas. “I’m sure that yours is as good as any.”

The corner of the man’s lip twitched upward. The subtle effect it had on his face in that moment was something glorious; Thomas could only imagine the force of a full smile on a face such as that. But then his attempt at a smile crumbled and a few tears spilled onto his cheeks.

“I, uh… I lost one of my patients today,” said the man, as if the words had to punch their way out of his mouth before he choked on them. “A friend, actually. I lost a friend.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Thomas, surprised at how genuinely he meant those words. He usually felt very uncomfortable when other people were upset, but there was nothing needy or desperate in the man’s sorrow. Thomas suspected he had just needed to say the words aloud for someone else to hear. To make it real.

“I met him just after the war when he was recovering from the amputations,” said the man, taking another healthy swig of the amber liquid. “I’ve treated him for years now. The therapy was helping his pain and he seemed comfortable at home with his family, happy even. His wife found him this morning. God, the look on her face…”

The man wiped roughly at his eyes with his handkerchief and sniffed a couple times. Thomas’s stomach clenched at the thought of his own friend, cold and pale and drained of life. He couldn’t tell if he was merely imagining the stinging pain in his own wrists.

Thomas didn’t know what exactly possessed him in that moment, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I’m sure you were a good friend to him. If he couldn’t see his way forward, it wasn’t your fault.”

The man looked up at Thomas appraisingly, eyes still glimmering, as if he were only now seeing him clearly. But the moment passed as the man stood abruptly and fished for his wallet.

“I apologize, it was terribly inappropriate of me to impose on you like that,” said the man as he left a handful of coins on the bar, distinctly flustered. “Please excuse me.”

The man was out the door before Thomas had time to react. And just like that, the pub was once again quiet, as if he had never been there in the first place. 

Well, except for the half-finished scotch and enough money left on the counter to pay for three more drinks.

What a surreal encounter, Thomas thought to himself. He felt a bit like he’d taken a punch to the gut, winded by the memories that had been drudged up during their short conversation. As he stood there, replaying the interaction on a loop in his mind, Thomas realized that his parting words to the man were the same ones he had repeated to himself like a mantra in the wake of Edward’s death. He hoped the man took those words to heart, even though Thomas himself never really had.

Thomas doubted that he would ever see him again. The man would likely not return since he’d naturally been embarrassed at having openly wept in front of a stranger. He wondered who the man was; it seemed strange to know something so personal about him when Thomas didn’t even know his name. Thomas considered that he would like for them to cross paths once again if only to have the simple pleasure of looking at his handsome features. 

But Thomas reminded himself that it wouldn’t do to long for things he couldn’t have, and if he made to chase away the image of those blue eyes by downing the remainder of the man’s scotch, then that was his own business.


	2. Chapter 2

Much to his consternation, Thomas found that the man was not as easy to forget as he had hoped. Several days later, he was still stubbornly pressed to the forefront of Thomas’s mind. Even during peak hours at the pub when he was rushed off his feet with the ever multiplying demands for spirits and ale, any pair of blue eyes or soft curls were enough to draw his attention.

It was maddening, really. Thomas had promised himself that he wasn’t going to do this anymore. Life had proven to him time and again that love and romance were not for men of his ilk. If he could just accept that he would always be alone in this way, maybe he could learn to be content with his lot. Maybe, if he finally let reality permeate that stubborn little bubble of hope still floating around inside him, disappointment would stop chipping away at his will to continue existing.

As he stood there at the bar, idly wiping out pint glasses and listening to the rain lash against the windows, he wondered if it might be worth seeking out one of those shadowed places to get it out of his system. He knew of a few spots around Piccadilly where he would likely find another man of his persuasion. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he might find someone amenable to being sucked off in the dark, someone who wouldn’t ask prying questions and would leave before he even had time to rise up off of his knees. Yes, a quick and anonymous tryst to take the edge off would be just the thing. If he could manipulate the encounter into something dirty and shameful, then there would be no deluding himself into thinking it meant something.

Oh, but now he was thinking rashly and that never led him anywhere good. His desires never failed to make a fool of him.

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard the door.

“Hello, again.”

Thomas looked up and there he was.

“I don’t know if you’ll remember me. I was in earlier this…”

“I remember you,” said Thomas, cutting him off. He was still too shocked by the man’s sudden appearance to feel much chagrin over his own eagerness.

The man huffed out a self-conscious laugh, his skin reddening beneath the glistening sheen of rain water that coated his face and neck. He was dressed in a severely cut black suit and coat but still somehow retained a kind of softness about him. “Yes, well, I made rather a display of myself, didn’t I?”

“Not at all,” said Thomas. At that, the man let some of the tension drop out of his shoulders and even managed a self-effacing smile. Thomas had been right; a smile on that face was indeed a glorious thing.

“I kept thinking about what you said at the funeral today,” said the man as he took a few more tentative steps towards the bar. “I wanted to tell you that I appreciate the sentiment even if I don’t necessarily believe it.”

Well. Thomas certainly hadn’t expected that.

“Oh,” Thomas began, not quite knowing how to respond. “When you rushed off, I was concerned I overstepped.” The utter lack of a filter between his brain and tongue had always gotten him into trouble at the Abbey. This was something he had planned to work on in his new life, but it seemed he was not off to an auspicious start.

“Not at all,” the man echoed Thomas. “I was upset and you were just being kind. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” replied Thomas lamely. He didn’t want the man to leave yet, so he reached for the scotch. “Will you stay for a drink? It’s on the house.”

The man looked at him questioningly.

“You overpaid last time,” Thomas said with a light smirk.

“Ah, so I did.” 

Thomas’s stomach gave a happy little jolt when the man sat down and accepted the scotch. There was still some awkward tension between them, so he did the only thing he could think of to diffuse it, despite feeling extremely vulnerable in doing so. He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Thomas, by the way. Thomas Barrow.”

Much to his intense relief, the man didn’t hesitate before taking Thomas’s hand in a firm grip.

“Pleasure to meet you, Thomas Barrow. I’m Daniel Greyling.”

“Pleasure to meet you as well, Daniel,” said Thomas, enjoying the way the name rolled off his tongue. “Or would you rather I call you Dr. Greyling?”

“Oh no, I prefer informality when I’m drinking,” said Daniel, taking a pointed sip of scotch. He seemed a little more at ease now, which made Thomas himself less flustered.

“What sort of doctor are you?”

“Orthopaedic. My practice is in physical and rehabilitation medicine.”

“I can’t say I know an awful lot about it, but I did learn a few things from a reconstruction aide when I was working at a hospital during the war. Had to make use of those services myself after I got this.” Thomas held up his gloved left hand and waggled his fingers.

“You were in the trenches?” asked Daniel. They were around the same age, but Thomas could tell right off that Daniel had not seen the horrors of the front lines for himself. There was always an unmistakable haunted look in the eyes of those who had.

“I spent two years at the Somme as a stretcher bearer before I got my Blighty. When the war started, I enlisted in the Army Medical Corps because I thought it would keep me from the worst of it. Silly of me, really,” said Thomas, smiling ruefully. 

“I worked in a hospital during the war, too, and the things I heard about the medics out there…” Daniel trailed off. “You must be a very brave person.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Thomas, hoping that the heat rising to his face wasn’t visible in the pub’s low lighting.

“I do. You couldn’t have survived it if you weren’t,” said Daniel, as if it really were that simple. The soft conviction with which he spoke almost had Thomas believing him. Then, seemingly embarrassed by his own candidness, Daniel cleared his throat and changed the subject. “The name of this pub is sort of funny, don’t you think?”

“The Wounded Badger?” asked Thomas, smiling as he did every time he said it aloud. He’d been lost when he came across it, wandering down one London side street after another in search of his boarding house; he wasn’t sure if he was merely drawn in by the ‘Help Wanted’ sign or if it was because he still felt so wounded himself. “Mrs. Chester, the owner, said it was named by her great-great-great grandfather. She started to tell me the story about it when I started here in January, but she smelled her pies burning and rushed off. She never bothered to tell me the rest. Nice woman, but between you and me, she’s a bit absent-minded.”

“You haven’t been working here very long, then. What did you do before?”

“I’d been in service most of my life. Started as a hall boy when I was a lad and worked my way up to butler by the end.”

“That’s quite something,” said Daniel, sounding genuinely impressed; usually when people of the middle and upper classes said things like that, it tended to sound patronizing. “Why aren’t you a butler anymore?”

Thomas knew he would have to tread carefully in answering that question. He could hardly bear to think about his last year at Downton, so speaking about it aloud to another person seemed intolerable now. 

“I’m sorry. Now I feel I’ve overstepped,” said Daniel, apparently sensing Thomas’s hesitation.

“It’s alright,” said Thomas. There was no reason he couldn’t be vague; Daniel didn’t need all the bloody details. The truth was, Thomas relished having a real conversation with someone for the first time in a long time; he didn’t want it to end because he had retreated back into his typical reticence. 

“I spent about fifteen years working for the Earl of Grantham at Downton Abbey - it’s a large estate in Yorkshire, if you haven’t heard of it - but with the times changing, they thought it sensible to start cutting back on staff. As underbutler, my position was considered superfluous. I got another job as a butler at a smaller household, but I didn’t much care for it. So I left. Came here,” Thomas finished, laying out only the bare bones of it.

For one heart-stopping second, Thomas was sure that Daniel was looking right through his blasé explanation to see all of the gritty, painful omissions. Those blue eyes were so quietly perceptive that he felt stripped naked beneath their searching gaze. It troubled Thomas that he found in it something oddly comforting, his desire to be seen by another person warring with his instinct for self-preservation.

“I did think you had the best posture of any bartender I’d ever met,” said Daniel with a kind smile. Whatever it was that Daniel had discerned beyond the superficialities of his story, Thomas was grateful that he did not seem inclined to press for anything that Thomas was not willing to give. “Do you miss it?”

“I miss some things about it, some people,” said Thomas, “but not nearly as much as I expected. I’m not sure how I feel about that, to be honest. I suppose my roots there weren’t as deep as I thought.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it? There was a time when I couldn’t imagine living anywhere other than where I grew up. Now, a country I used to think of as foreign feels as much like home as anything. We’re far better at adapting than we give ourselves credit for, I think.”

“In these past months, I’ve come to understand that as well,” admitted Thomas. “But once I realized that adapting to a new life was never really the problem, I finally saw something that I always tried to ignore.”

“What’s that?” asked Daniel.

“My old life never really fit me in the first place.”

The statement hung in the air between them and Thomas worried that he had again gone too far in his honesty. He was saved from having to say anything more right away when a few men walked into the pub. As Thomas filled their pints, he looked over at Daniel who was sipping his scotch contemplatively. At least he didn’t seem put off.

Just as Thomas turned back to him, he saw that Daniel had already risen to his feet.

“I’m afraid I have to be getting home now, but thank you for the drink,” said Daniel, donning his hat. The lamplight glinted off of something on his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Thomas. You’re very easy to talk to and I can’t say that about most people.”

“Likewise,” said Thomas, suddenly finding it difficult to form words.

“I’ll be sure to drop in again,” said Daniel, and Thomas believed him. He opened the door to leave.

“I don’t necessarily believe it either,” Thomas called out, a sudden pressure rising up in him to say the words. Daniel turned to look at him curiously. “I lost a friend like that once, too, and I used to tell myself the same thing. Even so many years later, it’s a hard thing to believe.”

Daniel gave him a small smile and a nod of understanding before walking out into the rain.

It was some minutes later, having gone back to wiping out pint glasses, that it finally dawned on Thomas that the shining object on Daniel’s finger was a wedding band.


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas had been standing outside the shop front for so long that a rare ray of London sun was actually starting to burn the back of his neck. He had made up his mind to finally go and get it over with, but now that he was here, he couldn’t seem to compel his body through the front door. Fortunately for him, the front window display of Weatherby’s Antiques was a thick cluster of all manner of odds and ends, so at least Mr. Weatherby wasn’t able to see him standing outside like a fool. 

He pulled out his pocket watch for what was possibly the eighth time since he’d arrived and stared down at it. It was still cheerfully ticking away in the cradle of his palm, blissfully ignorant of its impending dust-gathering imprisonment. It really was such a hateful little thing.

Thomas let out an annoyed growl at himself. He knew it wouldn’t have been so difficult to sell the blasted thing if he’d been able to come first thing in the morning as he’d planned. But of course, Mrs. Chester’s reliably unreliable nephew, Dwight, hadn’t shown up for work that morning. Therefore, Thomas was then obligated to spend half of what was supposed to be his day off helping a harried Mrs. Chester in the kitchen before opening the pub himself at eleven o’clock. The little twat hadn’t appeared until around noon, walking in with wrinkled clothing as if he’d picked it up off his floor and thrown it on in the dark. The sight of Dwight’s mismatched blue and black socks peeking out from beneath his too-short trousers made Thomas unpleasantly twitchy; it didn’t help that the boy’s gangly frame, ginger hair, and vacant expression reminded him forcibly of bumbling Alfred.

In that moment, Thomas had felt something vile rise up within him, an urge to land a blow across Dwight’s patchily copper-whiskered jaw. He loathed it when that feeling overcame him, although he would never follow through. It was only ever in this state of irrational ire that Thomas felt close to his father. He would never forget the time, at the age of ten, when he arrived nearly forty minutes late to help his father at his workshop. As a maker of timepieces, his father was not one to tolerate tardiness, which he made clear to Thomas by striking him so hard that his head came down upon the work table. It wasn’t until later that night, while examining his purpling bruises in the bathroom mirror, that Thomas discovered the minuscule watch gear embedded in the skin near his temple. His flesh was too tender to attempt removing the gear, so he let himself heal around it. He still caught himself absentmindedly raising a finger to it from time to time, feeling for that tiny ridge of hidden metal. Thomas was never late to the workshop again after that.

Once he had picked up and moved far away from everything that was familiar, Thomas had come to feel more isolated from his past with each passing day. As of late, the watch had become more alien than heirloom. When he was young, he would trace the intricate engravings in the silver to the point that he knew them as well as the scars on his own skin; now they were hieroglyphs for which he had no means of deciphering. It didn’t even feel as though the rhythmic tick tick ticking against his chest was measuring anything anymore. He’d woken that morning with the clear intent of purging it from his life altogether. Why the resurfacing of such bitter memories was now making it harder to part with, Thomas could not begin to fathom. He wondered if the watch would simply crumble should he squeeze it hard enough.

“Thomas!”

Thomas looked around and spotted Daniel strolling towards him. He was smiling broadly, squinting in the sunlight and keeping a hold of his hat against the wind. Daniel’s other hand was gripping a few small shopping bags and a taut leather leash attached to an excitable white terrier. The little dog’s paws were scrabbling for purchase on the cobblestones as it pulled hard against its restraints. Thomas almost started as it let out a sharp yip. 

“You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you outside of the pub,” said Daniel as he stopped beside Thomas.

“It’s my day off,” replied Thomas. He had to force his smile at first, but it became sincere once he realized he truly was pleased to see Daniel. 

“Mine, too,” said Daniel. He seemed worlds more at ease around Thomas than when they had first met. He was a soft-spoken man by nature, but not quite so reserved in his mannerisms anymore. It was a source of pride for Thomas, in a way, that a person so lovely and kind had warmed to someone like himself. 

Daniel was in the habit of stopping at the pub fairly regularly now to have a chat. They got on well and talked about anything and everything, but Thomas was always careful not to give too much away. He was well-practiced at speaking around certain things, although he was starting to see just how intuitive Daniel could be even when Thomas was speaking obliquely. Not that he was under the impression that Daniel was judging him, but he still felt caught out.

Daniel shuffled to face the cluttered window. “Do you have much shopping to do? I’ve only just finished mine.”

“No, not much,” said Thomas, swinging the watch from its chain like a pendulum.

“That’s a very beautiful watch,” Daniel commented, eyes tracking it’s movement.

“It is a beautiful watch,” said Thomas, also staring as it moved to and fro, sparkling in the sunlight. “I’m going to sell it.”

“You seem a little hesitant.”

“My grandfather made it.” Daniel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Endeavoring to head him off before he could ask questions, Thomas added, “I don’t need the money or anything like that. It just isn’t something I think I want to keep anymore.”

“I understand.”

Thomas was sure he didn’t really understand at all, but that was what he liked best about talking to Daniel. Despite the man’s ability to perceive that there was more beneath the surface of their conversation, Thomas was never afraid that Daniel would pressure him to say more than he was comfortable with. Daniel always knew where Thomas had drawn the line and didn’t try to cross it.

Thomas looked down to see the terrier standing unsteadily on its hind legs, wet nose sniffing the watch with enthusiastic curiosity.

“Down, Plato,” said Daniel, giving the leash a light tug. “Sorry about that. He isn’t one to respect personal space.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not a bother,” said Thomas, tucking the watch back into his breast pocket. The little dog was looking up at Thomas, squirming until he rolled over onto his back in an obvious plea for a belly rub.

“We’re on our way to the park,” said Daniel. “You’re welcome to join us if you need some more time to decide what to do with your watch.”

“Plato won’t mind if I come along?” asked Thomas, neck craning upwards from where he was crouched down to pet the wriggling animal.

“I’m sure he can endure your company for a little while longer,” said Daniel. “Shall we?”

With that, the two of them left Weatherby’s Antiques behind.

***

It truly was a gorgeous day. With the sound of Daniel’s calming voice and the warmth of the early May afternoon, Thomas could almost breathe easily. As soon as he was alone in the dark of his room later that night the weight would settle back onto his chest, but for now, he would allow himself a short respite from his burdens.

They strolled across the lawn of Regent’s Park, ambling down a small slope to come to a stop at the edge of the canal. Fifty or so mallard ducks were paddling around in the water, swimming back and forth under the bridge and diving beneath the surface only to buoyantly pop back up a second later. Plato, already high-strung, could hardly contain himself at the sight of the waterfowl; he yapped at them, running in circles and pulling on his leash.

Without further ado, Daniel easily plopped himself down on the grass, kicked off his shoes, and peeled away his socks. Thomas watched with increasing astonishment as Daniel proceeded to take off his jacket, folding it neatly and placing it off to the side, then rolled up his sleeves before leaning back on his elbows. How Daniel could be so reserved in almost every other way but not care a whit about being in a lax state of dress in public, Thomas could not understand. But then, thought Thomas, Americans were sometimes very perplexing creatures.

Noting Thomas’s bemused discomfort, Daniel laughed and pointedly wiggled his toes in the grass. “Come on, Thomas. Everyone is far too busy enjoying the weather to shame you for taking your shoes off,” he teased.

“Oh, go on, then,” said Thomas grudgingly. 

Even so, he surreptitiously glanced around to make sure no one was watching as he sat down next to Daniel. After a moment’s internal debate, Thomas harrumphed before removing his own shoes and socks. If old Carson could see him now… Nevertheless, he sighed at the sensation of cool blades of grass sliding between his toes. In his relaxed state, he very nearly rolled up his sleeves as well. The bright daylight exposed the gnarled skin of his wrist and the harsh sight of it was enough to pull him back to reality. He hastily tugged his shirt cuff back over the scars. Luckily, Daniel hadn’t noticed; he was on his back with his eyes closed and hands clasped over his stomach, still grasping the dog’s leash. 

Thomas knew he ought not to stare, but as he was currently unobserved by Daniel, he couldn’t help but covertly study the form of the man beside him. Thomas knew that Daniel was a strong proponent of exercise and fitness—both in the prominent role it played in the treatment of his patients as well as in his personal life—but during their conversations he forced himself to think of it in the abstract rather than what it meant in a physical sense. Now, with Daniel so close to him in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, it was very hard to ignore the defined musculature of his arms. Even beneath the fabric of his waistcoat, Thomas could plainly see the slight rise of his pectorals and the flat planes of his stomach. The sun felt scorching all of a sudden.

“I almost forgot,” said Daniel, sitting back up to grab a brown paper sack. He reached inside and took out a chunk of bread. Plato whined and wagged his tail; Daniel frowned at him, but patted him on the head all the same. “Sorry, this isn’t for you.”

Thomas took a piece from the bag when Daniel offered it, holding it aloft and out of Plato’s reach. Together they tore off small pieces and threw them into the canal. The ducks quacked louder and swam frantically towards the sodden food, greedily snapping it into their bills.

“I haven’t done this since I were a kid,” said Thomas, briefly slipping into his stronger Yorkshire accent before he could catch himself. “My sister, Margaret, used to take me down to the local pond all the time. I loved the ducks. They always looked so happy.” Usually, it had served as an excuse to get out of the house when their father was in one of his nastier moods, but Thomas didn’t mention that.

“I used to do the same with my sisters,” said Daniel. “I think that’s why I still like to do it now. That, and it’s nice to be somewhere quiet. London always feels so hectic; it gets a little overwhelming to me sometimes.”

“How did you manage, growing up in Chicago? I don’t imagine that was a very quiet place to live.”

“My family lived in the suburbs on the edge of the city. It wasn’t quiet, exactly, but it felt very communal. It was nothing like living in central London.”

“I never even saw London myself until I made footman and the Crawleys brought me to their house here for the Season. It was an eye-opener and no mistake.” The Duke had more than seen to that. Memories of that summer’s bedroom exploits were graphic enough to make him blush, so Thomas aimed to steer the conversation into safer territory. “What about your family? Do they like it here?”

“My kids have never known any different. Liam’s too young yet to have an opinion either way and Hattie reads so much that she probably forgets she’s even in London half the time,” said Daniel with a little laugh. “She’s a lot like I was at that age. Off in her own world.”

“What about your wife?” asked Thomas, trying his damnedest to sound indifferent. He twirled a blade of grass around his finger until it snapped.

“She’s very much a creature of the city,” said Daniel, not elaborating any further.

Thomas couldn’t figure it out. Daniel didn’t exactly sound bitter when his wife came up in conversation, but he rarely spoke of her. And when he did say something about her, he was brusque. Thomas almost had to wonder if it wasn’t simply wishful thinking on his part, to look for signs of stress and strain in their marriage because it gave him…what? Hope? That dangerous little bubble floating around again; he would do well to pop it sooner rather than later.

As it turned out, Thomas was not left with much time to ruminate further, as Plato had chosen that moment to tear away from Daniel’s loosened grip and charge furiously towards the water. Somewhere in the ensuing commotion, right after the ducks had taken flight en masse out of the canal to avoid the small barking projectile, Thomas found himself at the water’s edge alongside Daniel trying to grab for the dog. Daniel exasperatedly called for Plato to come back, but the little dog continued to paddle further out into the water, cheerfully oblivious. 

Thomas looked down and the end of the leash was in the water in front of him, just out of arm’s reach. He supposed there was nothing for it then. Biting back every ounce of the pride he yet possessed, Thomas hurriedly rolled up his trouser legs and waded into the canal. Once the water had risen to mid-calf, he was finally close enough to grab hold of the leash. Looping his hand through the sodden leather, he gradually tugged until Plato was compelled to swim back to him. Once Thomas had reeled him in, Plato made his own way onto the shore and began to shake the water out of his fur, spraying Daniel’s trouser legs.

Thomas made to climb out after the dog, but as he walked through the shallows his foot slipped awkwardly on a slimy rock, forcing his right ankle to bend outward. Thomas gasped as a white jolt of pain shot through his ankle and he caught himself before he lurched forward onto the grass. Daniel was there in a second to take his arms, haul him out of the canal, and then maneuver him to sit on the grass. 

“Are you alright?” asked Daniel, clearly concerned for Thomas’s welfare. That certainly wasn’t something Thomas was used to.

“I twisted my ankle,” said Thomas, hoping he didn’t sound too pathetic.

“It’s already starting to swell,” said Daniel, forehead scrunched as he examined the affected area. “You didn’t feel or hear anything crack, did you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Daniel lifted his foot to gently manipulate his ankle joint. Thomas winced at the twinge and Daniel patted his knee in sympathy. “Looks like a sprain.”

“That’s not so bad,” said Thomas motioning for Daniel to help him up. “I’ll just get back to my room and…”

“Nonsense,” Daniel cut him off. Apparently he was more assertive when in doctor mode. “You’re not walking on that. First I’m going to get us a cab and then I’m bringing you back to my surgery. It’s quite close.” 

Daniel’s tone didn’t leave Thomas any room to argue, so he kept his mouth shut. After they righted their clothes and gathered their things, Daniel sidled up to Thomas. He lifted Thomas’s arm over his shoulder and wound his own arm around Thomas’s back. 

The solid press of Daniel’s body against his own knocked the wind out of him more than spraining his ankle had. To be sure, there was nothing amorous in this particular embrace, yet it felt achingly intimate to Thomas. He could smell the soap on Daniel’s skin and feel his ribcage expand and contract with his breath. Thomas tried to concentrate on the pain to distract himself from their closeness while they staggered towards the road on three legs. All the while, Plato trotted out in front of them, nose twitching as he sniffed at the grass.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I haven't updated this since February! Ugh, I'm the worst :/
> 
> I was completely swallowed up in Black Sails fandom over the spring, and when I came back to this story I got super stuck on this chapter. I promise that I'm not abandoning it and will be updating more regularly in the future!
> 
> This chapter is some more introduction to Daniel and his life, which I hope will adequately set up the rest of the story I've mapped out. Thanks for reading!

“It doesn’t look like a break, but I would like to check a few more things if you’ll indulge me.”

Thomas nodded, still taking in his surroundings. The Crawleys had all been to Harley Street physicians when they needed expertise beyond what Dr. Clarkson could provide, but Thomas had never been inside one of those stately townhouses himself.

He should not have been taken aback by the revelation that Daniel practiced here, because he was, after all, a specialist physician; it made sense that he would work in the part of London known to house a high concentration of them. He felt foolish for not making the connection, but then Daniel was modest. Thomas had not had the occasion to know many successful people with that trait, and in his experience, it was practically nonexistent amongst the aristocracy.

Daniel dragged a stool up to the examination table and pulled Thomas’s foot onto his knee. He proceeded to press his fingers against individual bones, asking Thomas each time about his pain level. Apparently satisfied with his findings, Daniel finally stopped his prodding.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much to do for a sprain other than let it heal on its own, but I can at least wrap your ankle to keep it immobile,” said Daniel, gingerly letting Thomas’s foot down so he could stand to access his medical cabinet.

Thomas let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding when they broke their physical contact, but Daniel was quickly back with Thomas’s foot in his lap again and Thomas felt the limb regain its tension. To his chagrin, Thomas found his skin was quite sensitive where Daniel firmly wound the bandage around his ankle; he cleared his throat to cover a surprised giggle as his foot gave a slight but painful jerk.

“You’re ticklish,” said Daniel. Thomas looked up to see that he was actually smirking; it was an expression he had not yet seen on Daniel and it made his stomach flip. “It’s fine, many of my patients are. However, I will thank you not to kick me in the face.”

“Has that happened before?”

“You would not believe the amount of blood that came out of my nose.”

“I’ll try to be careful, then. I’d hate to ruin my trousers.”

“And I would hate to wrap these so tightly that they cut off your circulation. I might have to amputate.”

“Duly noted, Doctor.”

Willing himself to relax, Thomas trained his eyes on the intricate anatomical drawings adorning the walls of the surgery. He studied the smooth lines of the muscles and tendons running through the depiction of the human hands and wrists, musing that such a likeness of his own would not make for such a pretty picture after all he had put them through.

Daniel finished his work and followed Thomas’s line of sight. “While we’re here, I could take a look at your hand if you’d like.”

Such an examination might have been matter-of-fact and routine for Daniel, but for Thomas, that kind of scrutiny was out of the question. It wasn’t just the bullet wound in his hand; even though he still loathed the sight of it, he was less averse to the idea of Daniel, a medical professional, seeing it than someone else. No, he knew he could not show it to Daniel, because Daniel would inevitably ask him to roll up his sleeve to see the full extent of the damage. Thomas couldn’t risk exposing the more sinister mutilation on his wrists.

“It’s kind of you to offer, but you needn’t concern yourself. Honestly, it doesn’t hurt me anymore,” Thomas lied, knowing that Daniel would see through his evasiveness but hoping his excuse would work.

Daniel looked at him dubiously, but thankfully let the matter drop. 

A short while later, Thomas found himself in a wing-backed armchair in Daniel’s consulting room, leg elevated on a footstool. Having been plied with aspirin and some ice, he was finally beginning to feel some relief. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Daniel hastily tried to organize the files strewn across his desk.

“My apologies for the mess,” said Daniel, words punctuated by the shuffle of paper and slamming of drawers. “Mrs. Haversham is away visiting her sister and I’m afraid I’m coping rather poorly without her.”

Mrs. Haversham, Thomas recalled from earlier conversations, was Daniel’s secretary. She had been described as a septuagenarian with iron gray hair and a countenance to match; apparently, she had a heart of gold beneath the battle axe exterior, but she nonetheless forcibly reminded Daniel of the craggy, imposing nuns who used to teach him at school. Thomas couldn’t say he was sorry not to meet her.

The noise behind Thomas shifted to the chink of glass and splash of liquid as Daniel poured one glass and then another. He tried to sit less rigidly, but every muscle in his body was poised for him to jump up at a moment’s notice. It felt wrong to sit there with Daniel serving him.

“There’s something off about this picture,” said Thomas as he accepted Daniel’s proffered scotch, the leftover chipped ice clinking pleasantly in the glass.

The corner of Daniel’s mouth ticked upward as he said with a tinge of awkwardness, “You’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

“No, I…” Thomas began to deflect but then thought better of it. He’d already lied to Daniel once that day and didn’t want to make a habit of it. “Well, yes. It’s just that when you’ve spent most of your life as a servant, it’s drummed into your skull not to drink the family’s liquor or sit on their furniture. I know I’m invited in this case, but it’s hard to shake that training.”

In his life, Thomas had not always behaved in a way that was strictly befitting his class, but he ultimately knew where he stood. Although he and Sybil had developed a camaraderie through their work at the hospital, their shared history at the Abbey prevented Thomas from deluding himself that they were in any way equals. As for his romance with the Duke, that had only served to emphasize the social chasm between them rather than bridge it. Philip, the arrogant bastard, had a way of showing Thomas that he had the upper hand in all things, even when Thomas was the one fucking him over the chaise lounge. Daniel’s thinking, on the other hand, seemed to reside somewhere outside of those traditional notions on class. 

“I’ve come to know more than a few British aristocrats over the last decade,” said Daniel, running his finger round the lip of his tumbler. Choosing his words carefully as ever, he continued, “They do have an insidious way of making one feel very small, don’t they?”

“Yes,” agreed Thomas, taking a sip of his scotch. Speyside, and top-shelf at that.

“I consider you a friend. I wouldn’t have you feel that way in my house,” said Daniel clearly but without eye contact. “Besides, I’m thoroughly middle-class, as my wife likes to remind me.”

Thomas’s throat tightened in reaction to being called a friend. Not wanting to sound choked, he met Daniel’s eyes and nodded with a brief smile.

“Honestly, I knew I didn’t want to work in a hospital for my entire career, but I never thought I’d have anything quite like this. I actually inherited the house and the practice from the physician who was here before me,” said Daniel. “I haven’t told you about Dr. Iversen, have I?”

Thomas shook his head.

“We worked together at the hospital during the war. I was fresh out of medical school then and so out of my depth. I don’t think I would have gotten through it if it weren’t for him. He was like a father to me, in ways that my own never was, really.”

There was a vulnerability beginning to creep into Daniel’s voice that Thomas had only ever heard once before. The first day they met.

And it was gone as quickly as it had presented itself.

“Iversen was a funny man, guess you could call him an eccentric. He couldn’t have been any taller than five feet and maybe an extra inch if you took his hair into account. It was this white, bushy mess. I don’t think he even owned a comb,” Daniel laughed, fingering his own impeccable curls self-consciously. “Here, let me show you.”

Daniel stood up and walked over to a cabinet behind Thomas to ferret about in one of its drawers. He returned with a photograph, which he placed in Thomas’s hands. It depicted a group of doctors and nurses standing in front of London’s Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital, dated March 29, 1917. It didn’t take long to pick Daniel out of the crowd, his face unlined but instantly familiar. The man next to him was presumably Iversen, who indeed fell considerably short of Daniel’s own average height with a mass of hair like white cotton. Although he was old and stooped, he still somehow exuded a formidable air of intellect. 

“He intimidated me at first. He had this brilliant reputation and the way he spoke could be very off-putting, very blunt.”

How Thomas himself could be when he still had teeth, he thought. He hardly recognized himself anymore, but maybe that was a good thing. If Daniel could call him a friend, then the man he was now couldn’t be so bad. “I’m surprised you got on.”

“We were contentious for a while, but he took to me after he decided I wasn’t completely incompetent. It turned out that we worked quite well together and he brought me to work with him here after the war ended. He was in his early seventies by then and wasn’t really able to see his patients anymore. He didn’t have a family of his own, so when he passed away a few years back he left me the house and the practice.”

“Is that what made you decide to stay in England?” asked Thomas.

“In part, but I knew I wasn’t going back well before then,” said Daniel. It was he who now seemed uncomfortable. “Let’s just say that Effie and I had a very fast courtship. Our daughter was born about 6 months after our wedding.”

“Ah,” said Thomas, a few pieces of the puzzle slotting into place.

“Ah,” repeated Daniel, quirking his eyebrows. “It all happened so fast that we didn’t give longterm living arrangements much thought until we were already married. I’d planned to go home after the war, but Effie’s parents made it abundantly clear that they wanted their grandchild to be raised here. I had so much guilt over the whole situation that I didn’t dare argue.”

“An unmarried daughter in the family way. Can’t imagine they were too keen on you,” said Thomas. For him, sleeping with men came with its own set of dangers, but he was extremely grateful that unexpected pregnancy was not amongst them.

“No, they weren’t. And since my father-in-law is a baronet, it was even more important to him that we married as quickly as possible to maintain appearances. Additional scrutiny and all that.”

Thomas let out a low whistle.

“Fortunately, they’re fairly cordial with me now. I don’t think they liked the idea of their daughter marrying an American without any real money to his name, but they at least appreciated that I was raised Catholic.”

There was a bitterness in Daniel’s voice that Thomas had never heard before, but he had never discussed his in-laws before either. His forehead had contorted into troubled knots that Thomas wanted to soothe away with gentle thumbs.

“My children are with them now, actually. They go to Mass with their grandparents every Sunday and they usually don’t come home until the evening. I’d rather they spent the day with me, but Francis is used to having things his way and fighting him on it is pointless,” said Daniel, then adding with uncharacteristic disdain, “Excuse me, I should say Sir Francis.”

“You and your wife don’t go to Mass with them?” asked Thomas quietly. If he couldn’t quell his curiosity, he would at least attempt to tread lightly.

“Effie’s not usually at home on the weekends,” said Daniel quickly, as if Thomas wouldn’t dwell on the words if he blew through them fast enough. “And as for me, I suppose I’ve just grown too uncomfortable with the whole religion business. Or too uncomfortable with myself, although I’m not sure there’s much of a difference.”

Thomas must have remained silent for just a beat too long, because Daniel started rubbing his face with his hands and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me. I don’t mean to be so maudlin.”

“I’ve said before that I don’t mind listening, and I meant it,” said Thomas.

With Daniel’s eyes trained bashfully downward, Thomas seized the moment to look at him. Really look at him. There had always been something lonely about Daniel, but to see him now in his big, quiet house, Thomas finally had a glimpse of just how deep that loneliness ran. He had envied Daniel for his normal family and his respectable occupation. He had envied the apparent contentment that came with such a life. But it was an illusion. His secretary was considerate but taciturn, his children too young for heavy truths, and his wife too distant to listen, let alone care. Daniel spoke openly with Thomas about his thoughts and feelings because there was no one else to share them with. 

Thomas wished he could just recapture that sense of envy because it was an infinitely more comfortable emotion than the one that was currently squeezing his insides. Empathy was a beast.

“What about you? Did you grow up in a religious family?” asked Daniel, obviously working to shift the focus of conversation away from himself.

“We went to church,” said Thomas. “My father was a God-fearing man when it suited him. My sister was the most devout of all of us. She even married a vicar.”

“What about your mother?”

“She died when I was five. One of the few memories I have is us saying our prayers together before she put me to bed. It’s the only time I can remember seeing her with her hair loose—a long, black sheet of it down her back. She was lovely, my mother.”

“I know it’s nothing more than an empty platitude,” began Daniel, “but I am sorry you lost her all the same.”

“Thank you,” said Thomas, then added, “Now look who’s being maudlin.”

Daniel’s answering laugh was interrupted by the slamming of the front door. The loud, purposeful clomping of shoes preceded the arrival of a young redheaded woman in the doorway.

“Daniel, are you…oh,” she said with a thick Welsh accent, eyes wide and mouth open when she caught sight of Thomas. Her green eyes darted between the two of them as if they were engaged in a tennis match. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were seeing a patient today. If I’d known…”

Thomas’s first thought was that this unknown female entity must be Effie, but she was obviously working class and barely on the right side of twenty.

“It’s quite alright. Mr. Barrow is a friend, this isn’t a formal appointment,” said Daniel, hastily clearing his throat as he stood up. Thomas noticed that his neck was a little red. “Thomas, this is Glenys, our nanny and housekeeper.” 

Thomas and Glenys nodded at one another.

“I thought you were staying at your sister’s for dinner,” Daniel interjected into the awkward silence.

“Oh, we got into another row about her husband,” she said, waving the basket in her hand just a little too forcefully. A carrot fell out onto the floor. “I can’t help it if he’s a right lout, but she don’t like hearing about it from me. Anyway, I stopped at the market on my way home. Thought I’d cook up some vegetables to go with last night’s roast. There should be enough if Mr. Barrow would like to stay for dinner.”

Her big eyes grew wider still as she looked expectantly at Thomas.

Daniel, regaining his composure but still a little red, said “Yes, please do stay for dinner.”

“Oh, um…” stammered Thomas. “Alright.”

“That’s settled, then,” said Daniel, clapping his hands together before striding over to pick up the wayward carrot and take the basket from Glenys. “I’m going to help Glen put these away and then I’ll be right back up.”

Thomas was left puzzled as he listened to the two sets of shoes thud down the stairs. Daniel had looked almost embarrassed when Glenys walked in. But why? 

Daniel had mentioned a housekeeper in passing before, but the picture Thomas had formed of her had been something resembling Mrs. Hughes. He had certainly not expected a beautiful young woman. 

And Glenys was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Her plump hourglass figure put him in mind of the dancers at a burlesque show he had reluctantly attended before he was sent off to the front. Never before had he seen a woman in such a state of undress and the arousal of the men in the audience was something to behold. A fully clothed Glenys would have easily turned the heads of any of those blokes. Was it possible that she had turned Daniel’s? 

Thomas didn’t think there was anything actually going on between the two of them, but it was hardly absurd to wonder if Daniel was attracted to her. Hell, it would be more absurd to suppose that he wouldn’t be, especially with the state of his marriage. And she did seem to be awfully familiar—first name terms, even—when she suspected that Daniel was alone in the house…

Before his thoughts on the subject could spiral any further, Thomas heard the patter of little feet and then found himself with a lap full of white terrier. He was starting to feel rather silly, and it wasn’t only because Plato was slobbering all over his face. Daniel was his friend and nothing more. Why should Daniel’s feelings towards Glenys or any other woman concern him one way or another?

Because he was a petty, delusional, and jealous man who wanted things he would never have, that was why. He might have changed since leaving the Abbey, but not that much.

“I’m bloody pathetic, aren’t I?” Thomas asked the dog. 

He received only a broad lick on his nose in reply.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual situations ahead, so I've upped the rating just to be safe. And let's be honest, while this chapter might not be terribly graphic, I'm planning some much more explicit scenes down the road and so the rating was bound to go up anyway ;)

As it turned out, Thomas had been a little too hasty in suspecting a mutual attraction between Daniel and Glenys. There had been some overt flirtation on Glenys’s part over dinner that evening, but it was not directed towards her employer.

And like any good mate, Daniel came into the pub two days later to gleefully give Thomas a ribbing over it.

“She thinks you missed your calling as a film star,” Daniel said with a mostly straight face. “She says, and I quote, ‘that one has an air of mystery about him.’”

“Oh, shut it,” griped Thomas.

He had to admit, even though he could never reciprocate Glenys’s feelings, her admiration of him still went a long way towards puffing up his long-deflated ego. The last time a woman had shown such interest in him was back when Daisy still thought the sun shone out of his every orifice. At the time, he would have said that his primary objective in wooing Daisy had been to torture poor William, but if he was being truthful, a part of him had liked the innocent affection.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop teasing,” said Daniel, even as he wiped tears from his eyes. “She really was quite taken with you, though, and she’s not impressed by many men.”

“Well, you can tell Glenys that she’s a lovely young woman and I’m very flattered, but I’ve got a good decade on her and then some. She deserves someone young and fun, and I’m neither of those things.”

“I think you’re plenty of fun,” said Daniel quietly, catching Thomas off guard with his genuine tone. He took a long pull from his pint and a bit of foam remained on his top lip. Thomas was helpless to look away when a pink tongue darted out to catch it, but Daniel seemed not to notice him staring. “So, how are you getting along on those crutches?”

Before leaving Harley Street that night, Daniel had loaned him a pair of creaky wooden crutches to use until he could walk firmly on both feet again. 

“They do the trick, but my armpits ruddy well hurt,” said Thomas quietly so the other patrons would not hear him.

“I know they’re cumbersome, but you shouldn’t need them for much longer. I give it another day or two and you can probably do without.”

“That’ll be welcome news to Mrs. Chester. She’s none too pleased with me being partly laid up. Her nephew’s around to take the extra hours I can’t put in, but he’s none too reliable.”

Daniel’s forehead scrunched up in that now oh-so-familiar way. It was deplorable how easily the expression made Thomas’s heart thud a little harder against his ribcage.

“Do you like working here?” Daniel asked.

Of course, he didn’t have a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer to that. God forbid Daniel ever ask him a question to which he could give a simple answer. 

“There’s nothing to dislike about it. I’m not close with Mrs. Chester, but she’s nice enough. It’s a relatively quiet pub that doesn’t draw the rowdy sort, the patrons are usually nice to talk to, and I have a decent room to myself upstairs. It’s not what I thought I’d be doing at this stage in my life, but it’s calm and there isn’t much pressure to maintain appearances. I’m lucky to be working at all, and maybe that’s enough.”

He didn’t dare look at Daniel’s face after his little speech. He knew what he would see in it.

“Although, I may want to rethink things. With Glenys’s endorsement, I might try my hand at acting,” Thomas wisecracked to funnel some air back into the room.

Daniel snorted. “I can see it now. Thomas Barrow, the poor man’s Douglas Fairbanks.”

Thomas wasted no time in picking a damp rag up off the bar to lob it at Daniel’s head.

They shared a guilty chuckle over their childish behavior—a couple of old banker types stared at them from a corner booth, blatantly unamused—until Daniel’s expression sobered as it had before. He frowned as he delved inside his inner breast pocket, withdrawing a small envelope. He handed it to Thomas.

“What’s this, then?” asked Thomas, perplexed.

He made to rip it open but Daniel put his hand out in a staying motion.

“Open it after I leave,” he stated. “I wrote a letter instead of asking outright because I don’t want to put you on the spot. I’ll be back Friday afternoon for the crutches, so until then, just think about it.”

Daniel rose to leave, tipping his hat at Thomas with a small, nervous smile. Once he was out the door, Thomas himself felt nervous, now a bit reluctant to open the letter at all. He fiddled about with it for a few minutes, thumbing at the seam before deciding to read it in the privacy of his room when his shift ended in a few hours’ time.

Of course, those hours allowed his imagination to jump through all manner of scenarios the letter might express, from the horrifically mortifying to the wantonly filthy and everywhere in between. He knew what he wanted to read in the letter, but to say the chance of that was unlikely would be far too charitable; a declaration of affection in the written form was highly risky, and even if Daniel miraculously felt that way about him, he was not rash enough to offer up what could amount to blackmail material in the event that Thomas was unreceptive.

The fire of his curiosity sufficiently stoked, Thomas closed up the pub that night as quickly as he could without resorting to sloppiness and ran up the stairs, shutting the door behind him a little too loudly. He sat down on his squeaky mattress to open the envelope and took a deep breath as he unfolded the letter. He first had to squint to make out the letters of Daniel’s messy scrawl before he could begin to read.

_Dear Thomas,_

_I have come to value your friendship a great deal over these past months as I believe you have come to value mine. It is due to my trust in your character and abilities that I write to you with a professional proposition and, although it may very well be selfish of me, I do hope you will not feel that I am being presumptuous._

_Mrs. Haversham telephoned yesterday morning to give notice of her immediate retirement. It transpires that her sister is not at all well and Mrs. Haversham has decided to stay with her indefinitely. It would give me great pleasure if you would consent to fill her vacated position and come to work with me on Harley Street._

_However, I would not take you on merely as my secretary. With your prior experience as both a butler and a medic, you have the skill, knowledge, and work ethic to manage the practice as well as assist me in a basic medical capacity. My patient intake has grown considerably since I took over from Dr. Iversen and it would be a relief indeed to be able to rely on one so capable as yourself. I would, of course, pay you a competitive wage befitting your high level of competence._

_Furthermore, you needn’t worry about finding new lodgings should you accept the position. If you wish, you are most welcome to Mrs. Haversham’s private rooms in the lower level of the house, which are well appointed and open up to the back garden. She was very fond of a pungent brand of potpourri, but I am sure if the apartment is aired out for several days, you shall not even smell the ghost of it._

_But alas, I fear I am getting ahead of myself. I do not wish to put any undue pressure on you to take this position, so if you wish to remain at The Wounded Badger, I will simply take your silence on the subject as a polite declination. The very last thing I would want is to make things awkward between us._

_Whatever you decide, thank you for considering my proposal._

_Your friend,_

_Daniel_

Thomas could not say what precisely in the letter prompted it, but once he reached the end, he began to cry. The deluge that flooded his eyes was such that he was forced to set the letter aside lest he smudge the ink with his tears. Contradictory emotions swirled inside of him like a whipping wind, with relief, disappointment, anxiety, and elation all vying for prominence.

He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief and made sure his hands were dry before picking up the letter to read it through again. It was so like Daniel to be overly considerate of Thomas while also being insufferably self-deprecating and it made his chest feel tight. Daniel’s words were some of the kindest Thomas had received in his life. Perhaps that was why they were as painful as they were deeply touching. 

He had been brought so low by the impending loss of his position at Downton and lower still by the dwindling hope of finding a remotely comparable post. So low, in fact, as to find death preferable to a life lived in uncertainty and isolation from others. How strange it was, he thought to himself, to be handed an opportunity such as this when he had finally reached a state of peace with his less than fulfilling existence. 

Too exhausted and overwhelmed with emotion to think on it properly that night, Thomas readied himself for bed and fell quickly into a fitful sleep.

*** 

Thomas thought of little else besides the letter over the next two days but he was no closer to reaching a decision. Although every inch of him was yearning to say yes, he wasn’t sure it was for the right reasons. 

The job itself was certainly a respectable one and it was sure to be both engaging and challenging. It was when he considered Daniel in that picture that the image became less clear to him. He thrilled at the prospect of spending so much time in Daniel’s company as much as he was terrified by it. Daniel already occupied his thoughts more than Thomas liked to admit; wouldn’t it be a sheer act of masochism to live under the same roof as someone he desired intensely but had no hope of attaining? He had been down that road once with Jimmy and his feelings in that case had not been as mature nor run so deeply. To share in such closeness with Daniel on a daily basis would be exquisite torture, but torture nonetheless. Perhaps it would be healthier if Thomas stayed where he was and maintained a friendly distance. He might hurt Daniel in turning down his offer, but he would be saving himself much grief and heartache in the long run.

Being cooped up inside while his ankle healed with nowhere to escape his rumination on Daniel’s letter had made him exceedingly restless, and he was itching to get out of the pub and out of his own mind. Fortunately, just as Daniel had predicted, Thomas found that he could now do away with the crutches completely. As soon as Dwight relieved him for the evening—only twenty minutes tardy this time—Thomas ate his dinner with gusto and set out into a pleasantly warm night. He didn’t even pause to think about where he was going, knowing that if he did, he would talk himself out of it. He simply allowed his feet to carry him into Soho, where laughter and jazz music spilled onto the street from warmly lit lairs of questionable repute.

A small group of revelers suddenly stumbled drunkenly out of a door and nearly collided with him where he was walking. A pretty blonde woman, dressed to the nines in a slinky beaded ensemble and clearly inebriated, caught herself by planting her gloved hand on Thomas’s lapel. 

“Please excuse me, kind sir,” she slurred with a giggle.

A suave dark-haired man with a mustache smiled apologetically at Thomas and peeled her off, looping his arm around her tiny waist to lead her away. Thomas watched them for a while, feeling a pang of jealousy at the way they clung to each other, the man planting a kiss on top of her mussed curls. He was sure that they had no real idea of how just how good they had it, to be able to share in giddy affection with a lover on a well-lit public street without fear of consequence.

Turning to walk in the opposite direction, Thomas hoped to find what he was looking for soon because his ankle was protesting the extra exertion. He knew it was foolish to chance further injury by walking this far on it, but his blood was singing and he thought he might go mad if he didn’t get some relief.

As luck would have it, Thomas observed a couple of foppishly dressed men exiting an unassuming building down a side street to his left. Usually, he would make a couple of circuits around the block just to be sure that he could slip in unnoticed, but the need to sit down was becoming urgent. He settled for a cursory scan up and down the street before quickly striding towards the unmarked door.

Upon entering the club, Thomas immediately felt claustrophobic; what little light there was in the small room was polluted with plumes of smoke swirling out of all manner of cigarettes, cigars, and pipes and he couldn’t take a step without brushing up against someone. He was about to turn around and leave when he saw a man vacate his spot at the bar, so he limped over to it and sat down. His head was already buzzing from the heady atmosphere of the place, which did not endear him to the thought of imbibing alcohol. However, it would look odd if he refrained, so he forced himself to knock back whatever cheap booze the bartender had poured for him. He almost laughed when he imagined the reaction of disgust Daniel would have to drinking this swill.

And there he went, thinking about Daniel again. Even in a room full of men who were potentially available for a shag, he was wasting his time dwelling on one who wasn’t. Frustrated and impatient, Thomas surveyed the room for a suitable conquest. On his fourth pass, he finally locked eyes with a man leaning against a wall on the other side of the room. He was handsome enough, square-jawed and stocky with a swarthy complexion and thick dark hair. Judging by his clothes, he was working class. What Thomas found most appealing about him was that he looked nothing like Daniel.

All the while maintaining eye contact with Thomas, the man took a puff on his cigarette before walking over.

“Would you care for one?” asked the man, pulling a cigarette case from his breast pocket. 

The man had a thick accent that might have been Italian, but Thomas couldn’t tell for sure over the din. He accepted the cigarette and wrapped his lips around it suggestively as the man held up his lighter, inhaling deeply to let the smoke billow lazily from his barely open mouth.

He would usually have taken his time and chatted the man up first to make himself feel more at ease, but tonight it felt like a hollow ritual. Having gone so long without any semblance of intimacy with another man, any anxiety he usually felt about being with a stranger was vastly outweighed by a wretched craving to be touched.

He had no desire to play any boring games, and so he cut to the chase.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy a smoke,” said Thomas, hollowing out his cheeks to take another drag, “but I was rather hoping to get my mouth around something bigger.”

It was possibly the filthiest innuendo Thomas had yet employed as a pick-up line but it seemed to have the intended effect. He watched as hungry black pupils ate away at the dark brown of the man’s irises.

“You’re very forward,” the man stated with something like awe.

“What would be the point of dragging this out?” countered Thomas. He thrilled at the sensation of his old swagger creeping back in; he was the one in control here and it felt damn good. “The way I understand it is we’re both after the same thing and I’m sure you won’t want to be out too late in case you’re missed.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You forgot to take off your wedding band.”

The man flushed and twisted his ring agitatedly. Thomas rushed to smooth things over before the man became spooked and changed his mind.

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter to me,” lied Thomas, thinking of how Daniel twisted his wedding band the same way when he was restive. “Now then, on to practicalities. We can’t go back to mine and I don’t imagine your wife would be too chuffed to see me, so let’s just make do with somewhere dark and out of the way, yeah?”

“Follow me,” said the man, obviously inflamed with arousal yet still regarding Thomas dubiously.

The man only led Thomas as far as the alley at the back of the building, which already held a few other occupants judging by the shuffling and grunting emanating from the murky darkness. Seedy public liaisons always made Thomas feel jumpy and more than a little dirty, but he forcefully reminded himself that beggars couldn’t be choosers. The man peered about for an interminable moment until he spotted an empty stairwell and Thomas followed him down.

When they reached the bottom, Thomas backed the man up against the crumbling brick wall, pressing their bodies together and hovering his lips over the other man’s so that they were not quite touching. He allowed himself a meditative moment before the plunge, to feel the heat of the man’s body against his own and smell the tang of his sweat and lingering tobacco lacing his damp breath.

“What do you want to do?” the man spoke into Thomas’s mouth, his lilting voice a low rumble in his chest. Definitely Italian.

“Thought I told you already,” breathed Thomas. 

He slipped his tongue past the man’s lips for a sloppy kiss before sliding down to kneel on the hard ground. He made quick work of the belt buckle and as soon as he had freed the man’s prick he took it into his mouth. He heard a quietly audible groan above him and put his hands out to still a desperate thrust of the man’s hips. 

Thomas may have been the one on his knees, but his skill in this act had always made him feel exceedingly powerful. He bobbed his head expertly, taking the shaft down to the hilt. It helped that his prick wasn’t especially long, but it was thick; the stretch of his lips around it must have looked obscene. It had been years since he’d last done this and it was every bit as good as he remembered. He even relished the bitter taste as the man neared his completion all too soon. Thomas pulled off with a wet pop as the man spilled and used his good hand to work him through his peak.

“ _Dio mio_ ,” whispered the man, head falling back against the brick. He peered blearily down at Thomas. “Come here.”

Thomas rose up as requested, worrying distantly about the stained knees of his trousers. They shared another open mouthed kiss as the man undid his fly and grasped him with a heavily calloused hand. There was no finesse to his movements, but Thomas was too far gone to care. He panted harshly against the man’s mouth as deliciously rough hands soon brought him off. His mind went blissfully blank as waves of pleasure washed over him.

They stood there wordlessly for a few minutes, trying to catch their breaths. Then the man reached into his pocket for an embroidered handkerchief to wipe them clean; in his post-orgasmic stupor, it only bothered Thomas a little that it was probably his wife’s handiwork.

After they righted themselves, the man caught Thomas unawares with an almost sweet kiss on the cheek.

“ _Grazie_ ,” said the man, and took off into the night.

As he hobbled home, Thomas noticed that his blood had finally been brought down to a tolerable simmer. His head felt clear for the first time all week and he once again considered his choice. 

Thomas decided that he would not be greedy in this. Daniel’s platonic companionship was a true gift and more than he had any right to hope for. His friendship would be enough because it had to be. There would inevitably be times when closeness without consummation would become too much, but he could find release elsewhere. It was what men like him had to do, and he could find happiness in that.

Indeed, he smiled, realizing the impending change in his life was one he was actually looking forward to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been hellishly busy the past couple of months, so this chapter has taken me a little longer to write than anticipated. It's also extra long, so I hope that helps to make up for the wait!

“What do you think?”

Daniel’s voice was unsure. Behind him, Thomas could hear the floor boards creak under shifting feet and the flustered jangle of a key ring.

He had just been given a tour of Mrs. Haversham’s former apartment, now his, which consisted of a generously sized bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room. Likely mistaking Thomas’s silence for hesitation, Daniel worried aloud about the current paucity of furniture and the potential noise from Glenys working in the adjacent kitchen. 

“I mean, I know it isn’t much and the potpourri had a far more stubborn odor than I had anticipated…”

“Daniel,” said Thomas, cutting off his friend before he could second-guess himself to death. “This is more than I’ve ever had to myself. I think it’s fantastic.”

“I’m glad,” said Daniel, looking down at his hands. “I think you’ll be comfortable here.”

“At Downton, I had a rickety single bed in a drafty attic room and shared a bathroom with the entire male staff. I promise you, I’ll be more than comfortable.”

“Even so, the apartment needed some updates. The armchairs are out for reupholstery, but at least you have the sofa until those are finished,” said Daniel, nodding towards an expensive-looking leather chesterfield that only showed a few signs of wear. “I also took the liberty of having the walls repainted; I hope the color is alright.”

Thomas did not have a sophisticated knowledge of color or interior design, but the paint appeared to be a shade somewhere between blue and green and was light and bright in the early afternoon sun shining in through the white curtains, which also looked new and crisp.

“It’s very nice,” Thomas said, flummoxed by the time and money spent for only his benefit. “But you really didn’t need to do all this on my account. I’m sure it was fine the way Mrs. Haversham left it.”

“The walls were pink and the rest was a floral nightmare. Trust me, it wouldn’t have suited you at all. You’ll enjoy the roses more in the garden where they’re supposed to be.”

“Well, thank you. Even though it isn’t necessary, it’s much appreciated.”

Daniel nodded at him and moved towards the door.

“I’ll leave you to get settled in. I need to run out and make a couple of house calls, but I should be back in a few hours so we can start going over some of your duties. Glenys saved you some lunch in the kitchen in case you were hungry.”

Daniel closed the door behind him, and now that Thomas was left to his own devices, he felt a little thrill zing through him as he surveyed the space he would have all to himself. The sitting room alone was bigger than the butler’s pantry at the Abbey and the bedroom even boasted a double bed. Having only slept on a single for his entire life, his giddiness was such that he had to restrain himself from bouncing on it like a child.

All his worldly possessions, packed into only two valises, seemed incredibly insufficient to fill the space. However, with the generous wage Daniel was paying him, Thomas would soon have enough disposable income to purchase some creature comforts as well as time to enjoy them with his truncated workday and mostly free weekends.

As much as Thomas had romanticized the idea of having freedom, choice, and leisure, he found that he was unsure of what to do with it now that he was faced with the prospect of having more. And the more he thought about it, the more it overwhelmed him, so he busied himself instead with unpacking his meager belongings.

Once everything was in its place, he went next door to the kitchen where he found a plate of sandwiches awaiting him as promised. He had already tucked in by the time that Glenys came through carrying a tray of precariously balanced dirty plates and glasses.

“Hello, Mr. Barrow. It’s good to see you,” she said, smiling at him brightly. She set the dishes noisily in the sink and set to scrubbing them. “Do you like your rooms? I helped Daniel choose the paint.”

“I like them very much,” said Thomas, then quickly added, “Thank you.”

“I just put Liam down for his nap, so I have some time on my hands. Care for a cuppa?”

“Please,” said Thomas.

He speculated that it might grow tiresome after a while, listening to Glenys chatter away as she did and knowing that he wouldn’t get a word in edgewise if he wanted to, but for now he didn’t especially care. She was animated enough not to bore him and she was a bit of a gossip besides. This was not someone whose arm he would have to twist for information.

Glenys still acted amorously towards Thomas, lightly placing her hand on his arm a couple of times as she talked. He knew he would need to say something soon to nip this behavior in the bud, but the flirting was harmless enough for the time being. The present moment simply didn’t seem like the right time to potentially hurt her feelings.

He was determined to get off on the right foot with Glenys, as she was the only other occupant of the house who was not Daniel’s immediate family. He could not afford to alienate her and nor did he want to. Thomas had generally been very dismissive of the young women he worked with, not being sexually interested in them and having very little use for them otherwise. But having been so readily thrown aside by most people in his life, he now felt less inclined to do so to someone else. How soft he had grown.

When Glenys paused to take a sip of her tea, Thomas seized the opportunity to ask, “How long have you worked here?”

“Two years now,” replied Glenys, “I was living with my sister here in London for a while, but then she got married and there wasn’t room for me. Not that I’d want to stay with them anyhow, her husband is a real boor. Luckily I got my position here, though, and was able to move in quickly.”

“I gather you like it here, then.”

“Oh, yes! I have my very own room on the third floor. It’s a lovely room and I don’t want for anything,” said Glenys, beaming. Like many young working class girls, Thomas guessed that it was probably the first room she’d ever had to herself. “My room is right next to the children’s, so I’m there if they need anything during the night. Then Daniel and Mrs. Greyling have their bedrooms on the second floor.”

Thomas wondered why it was that Glenys would call Daniel by his first name, but be on such formal terms with his wife. The woman was turning out to be quite the enigma. Then he became stuck on something else Glenys said and pressed on for more information.

“Wait, you mean to say that Daniel and his wife sleep in separate bedrooms?” asked Thomas. 

He was well aware of the inappropriateness of the question, so he decided his best option would be to feign an apologetic tone while hoping she would expound on the revelation anyway. 

“Pardon me, that’s none of my business. Please, forget I asked.”

“It’s quite alright,” Glenys smoothed over despite the red blossoming across her cheeks. “They’ve slept in separate bedrooms at least as long as I’ve been here. I thought it was strange, too, at first.”

“At first?”

“Yes, I think it will make more sense to you soon enough.”

Thomas couldn’t say why this surprised him. After all, Lord and Lady Grantham occupied separate bedrooms some of the time, but that was customary of the upper classes. In his experience, however, most married couples slept together. Before Thomas could formulate another question to ask on the subject of Mrs. Greyling, Glenys was already rising from the table.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Barrow, I need to go and wake Liam, but please come and find me if you need anything,” she said. 

She went to clear their dishes, but Thomas interjected, “Allow me. I know you’re busy and I’ve kept you too long. And please, call me Thomas.” 

Thomas stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He instantly regretted it, because he knew he had only encouraged her when a smile overtook her face at the contact. He really did need to find a way to let her down gently in a way that would not make her suspicious of his proclivities, and quickly. It would not do to lead her on for too long.

After finishing with the dishes, he decided to venture up to the ground floor and maybe go through his new desk. He was feeling jittery over his upcoming dinner with Daniel’s family that night and wanted to stay occupied.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Thomas heard a loud thunking come from Daniel’s consulting room. Thinking that Daniel must have arrived back home early, he popped his head inside.

Instead of Daniel, he found a young girl crouched on the floor where she was picking up a small pile of books.

“Do you need some help?” asked Thomas.

The girl started at his voice and stood up quickly, clutching the books to her chest.

“Yes, please,” she said, looking relieved as she handed the books to Thomas.

“You must be Mr. Barrow,” she said after he’d stacked the books back on the shelf. “I’m Hattie.”

She stuck her hand out confidently and gave Thomas a surprisingly firm handshake. She looked very much like her father, with a similar shape to her face and nose and her curly brown hair, but Thomas could tell already that they were dissimilar in their deportment. Daniel still had trouble looking Thomas in the eye, but his daughter did so right away and without hesitation.

“Pleasure to meet you, Hattie,” said Thomas, “Your father talks about you all the time. He’s very proud of you.”

She smiled at him, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. 

“Would you please not tell him I was in here? He’ll be cross at me if he finds out I was reading his medical books again. He says they’re only for grown-ups, but I think they’re fascinating. I’m going to be a doctor, too, one day.”

“Well, I don’t see any harm in getting a head start. He won’t hear about it from me,” said Thomas, winking at her and smiling kindly.

“Thank you,” she said, already heading out the door with another book half hidden behind her back. “See you at dinner tonight.”

Thomas had always been a pushover when it came to children and he was fairly certain that Hattie had smelled his weakness and taken immediate advantage. Which, really, was fine by him. It would be nice, Thomas thought, to be in a house with children again. One of the only things he truly still missed about Downton was getting to spend time with George and Sybbie. He wondered if they had forgotten him by now.

He headed over to the waiting room, hoping to find some stationary in the desk. He opened and closed several drawers—he found a tin of peppermints that looked suspiciously old in his pursuit and popped one of the sweets in his mouth despite his better judgment—before coming upon his quarry. There was some paper with official letterhead for the practice alongside some personal stationary that Mrs. Haversham had left behind, which was pink with delicate little roses in the corners. Thomas was sure that Baxter would get a good chuckle out of receiving such a frilly letter from him, but opted instead for Daniel’s official stationary. This would at least save him the trouble of writing out his new address and had the added benefit of proving that he was where he said he was.

Thomas had only written to Baxter twice since he left Downton although she had written to him every fortnight without fail. He felt guilty about his reticence, but in truth, he simply hadn’t had much to say. She was always going on about the near incessant drama unfolding both upstairs and downstairs and his life had felt so stagnant by comparison. Now, he finally had news worth sharing.

His first draft ended up as a crumpled ball in the bin once he realized he was practically waxing poetic about Daniel’s virtues. Not that he didn’t feel all those things about Daniel, but it wouldn’t do to write about him with more obvious adoration than Baxter did in regards to Molesley, which was indeed nausea-inducing where Thomas was concerned.

His second draft was far more contained and he decided he was happy with it. Daniel walked through the front door as he signed the letter and folded it.

“Already settling into the job, I see,” he said teasingly with a smile that made Thomas’s heart flutter.

“I was just writing an overdue letter to a friend. She’s the only person I’ve kept in touch with from Downton Abbey.”

“Oh. Is she a…were you two…?”

Thomas nearly laughed in Daniel’s face once he understood what he was insinuating.

“No, nothing like that. I’ve known her since I was a child, actually. She was a close friend of my sister’s growing up and then, more recently, she came to work with me.”

“That’s nice you keep in touch. Is she still friends with your sister as well?”

“They’re not as close as they used to be. I think they exchange the occasional card on birthdays and Christmas,” said Thomas.

Truth be told, he suspected they wrote more regularly than that, but with Thomas and Margaret now being almost entirely estranged, Baxter didn’t share anything with him besides the occasional comment that she was still alive and kicking. He knew she kept any additional information from him to spare his feelings, but he wasn’t sure that it didn’t hurt him more to feel so cut off. 

What compounded that feeling further was that Margaret was as ignorant of Thomas as he was of her. Their last correspondence had to be nearly eight years ago now, Margaret having only written to inform him of the death of their aunt on their mother’s side. It was only on those wretched occasions that his sister deemed it necessary to contact him, likely thinking it her Christian duty. Thomas wondered why she even bothered; he had cared for his aunt, but it wasn’t as if he would be welcome at the funeral. 

“Hm,” was all Daniel said in response. He looked at Thomas appraisingly, then abruptly, he held a bag out to Thomas and asked, “Care for a toffee?” 

The gesture put him in mind of that night not so long ago when Thomas had been offered a cigarette by the Italian man. However, though he might wish for it dearly, this was not a mating ritual that would result in someone being sucked off in a stairwell.

Feeling that it would be awkward to refuse, Thomas took one. As it turned out, the toffee was obscenely delicious and he couldn’t help but let his eyes slip closed for a second as it melted on his tongue. When he opened them back up, Daniel was looking at him with a slightly glazed expression, but came back to himself quickly with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. This didn’t concern Thomas, though, as his friend tended to go out wool-gathering with some regularity.

“This is excellent. Where’d you get it?”

“An elderly patient of mine makes it. She always sends me home with a bag and I wanted you to try some before Hattie gets to it.”

Daniel took a piece for himself and set the crumpled paper bag on edge of the desk. Thomas tried not to pay too much attention to the way Daniel’s angular jaw moved as he crunched through the candy.

“So,” said Daniel, clapping his hands together, “I thought I would take the rest of the afternoon to give you a more thorough introduction to the surgery. Why don’t we start with the exam room?”

Thomas tried his best to commit as much as he could to memory as he and Daniel spent the next couple of hours going over the basics of supplies, medications, patient records, scheduling, as well as the types of cases Daniel dealt with on a day to day basis. 

It was a lot to take in, so Thomas was secretly relieved that they had had to stop in the middle of discussing Mrs. Haversham’s filing system to take a restive Plato out for a walk. 

After they returned and Plato had run back upstairs, they ended up in the consulting room where Daniel was now perusing his book shelves for several titles he wanted Thomas to read.

“Some of the practices described are a little outdated now, but it’s still an excellent resource on physical therapy,” said Daniel, handing him a well-worn copy of Reclaiming the Maimed by R. Tait McKenzie. “I studied with him at the University of Pennsylvania. I think I told you that was where I went to medical school, didn’t I? Anyway, I guess you could say I hero-worshipped him. He was the one who inspired me to help with the war effort, actually. He came over here in ’15, the same year I graduated, and I decided to come to Britain as well instead of going on to my internship.”

“You lot are expected to do an internship? After all that schooling?”

“It only became a requirement in the U.S. in ’14, but my wartime experience practically served the same purpose. I didn’t mind the prospect of taking the time for an internship, though. I started my bachelor’s degree at seventeen, so I had a year’s head start.”

There went Daniel, surprising him again. Thomas knew that he shouldn’t feel ashamed for quitting school himself, as the circumstances for his departure had been well outside of his control, yet he felt embarrassed in light of this new information about his friend. It made him wonder all the more what Daniel saw in him to so assuredly offer him this position. Unsure what to say in response that would not give away his own insecurities, Thomas kept his mouth shut.

While Daniel was skimming a shelf for another book to loan Thomas, his hand passed over a slim but noticeable gap between tomes.

“I see my daughter still isn’t over her fascination with conjoined twins,” said Daniel, frowning, but clearly a little amused. “This is the third time she’s taken that book this month. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how I raised a child with such morbid interests.”

“At least she’s reading,” offered Thomas wryly. 

“I would rather she read books that are age appropriate, but I think the more I tell her that, the more she wants to read the ones that aren’t,” said Daniel. “I’ve rather given up.”

“Why don’t you just lock the door if you don’t want her in here?” asked Thomas incredulously.

“I did try that for a while,” said Daniel sheepishly, “but then I kept misplacing my keys. I’m afraid you’ve signed on to work for someone who is frustratingly absentminded. I think Mrs. Haversham barely tolerated me in that regard.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” asked Thomas, smirking at Daniel’s excuses. “I think you’re secretly pleased that your daughter steals your weird medical books. Fathers are usually dead chuffed when their kids want to grow up to be just like them.”

Daniel made no reply, but Thomas caught him grinning out of the corner of his eye as he continued to scan the shelves. He located a few more books for Thomas before deciding to call it a day with a plan to pick up where they left off in the morning. 

An hour still remained before Thomas was to go upstairs for dinner, and so he took the opportunity to get cleaned up.

He had never actually used a shower before and he had to admit that he was a little intimidated. Daniel swore by the newfangled contraptions, and having first been persuaded to get one by his sister in America, he then proceeded to have one installed in every bathroom in the house.

It took Thomas almost ten minutes just to figure out how to get the water to a temperature he was comfortable stepping into, but once he did, he decided that it was something he could get used to. The feeling of the hot water cascading down his back was relaxing as well as invigorating, and by the time he finished, he wondered how he had survived this long without one. It made him feel very modern.

Thomas styled his hair with a little pomade and even dabbed on a smidgen of cologne before dressing in his nicest suit. He told himself that it was to make a good first impression on Mrs. Greyling, although he knew he was equally motivated to look nice for Daniel whether his effort was appreciated by the man or not. 

With some time left to spare, Thomas stepped out into the garden for a quick smoke to quell his nerves. One of the ground rules for the house was no smoking inside, which he didn’t feel too put out about. Inexplicably, his cigarette intake as of late had dwindled to only a couple per day; the most sense he could make of this was that his stress levels since leaving service had also dwindled. He supposed the fact that he had satisfied his oral fixation by other means in the last fortnight didn’t hurt either.

Halfway through his cigarette, a car pulled up around the back of the townhouse and a woman got out, making her way down the steps into the courtyard where Thomas stood. He could only stare at her, confused, until she spoke.

“Ah, you’re my husband’s new assistant, aren’t you?” she said, looking unsurprised to find him there. Without so much as a ‘how do you do’ she said, “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I joined you? I’m absolutely gasping.”

A little taken aback by the sudden appearance of Daniel’s wife, Thomas wracked his brain for something to say as she reached inside her chic beaded clutch for her own cigarette case. Once she fit one into her black cigarette holder, Thomas at least remembered himself enough to light it for her. She took an appreciative drag and blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth away from his face.

“Of course my husband has spoken of you, but you’ll need to remind me of your name.”

“Thomas Barrow. I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Mrs. Greyling,” said Thomas, briefly clasping her offered hand.

She only hummed her agreement and smiled at him in a way that reminded him overwhelmingly of the aristocratic aloofness of Lady Mary; he figured that was to be expected of the daughter of a wealthy baronet. There was also something about her demeanor that was bold and flirty, which reminded him more so of Lady Rose, but whereas it gave her a genuine, charming naïveté, Mrs. Greyling carried it in a way that suggested an underlying cynicism.

They smoked their cigarettes in a not uncomfortable silence and when they finished, Mrs. Greyling turned to him and hooked her arm through his.

“Would you accompany me upstairs, Mr. Barrow? I’d hate for us to be late.”

***

Indeed, they had not made it more than halfway through dinner when Thomas gained an understanding of the Greylings’ preference to reside in separate bedrooms.

There was no overt hostility there that he could sense, but there was a cool detachment between them that was quite tangible. The presence of the children didn’t even serve as the welcome buffer Thomas had been hoping for.

For one thing, Thomas was caught off guard upon meeting Liam. It was nothing to do with his behavior, as the little boy himself was perfectly delightful, if a little quiet. He was about the same age as Master George and quite shy with Thomas at first, initially burying his head in Glenys’s skirts and not allowing her to carry on serving dinner, but eventually Thomas brought him around enough for a mock-formal handshake that made Liam giggle. No, what caught Thomas off guard was Liam’s appearance.

Because there was no way in hell that boy was Daniel’s own flesh and blood.

While Mrs. Greyling was blonde and as fair complected as her husband, Liam had hair as black as Thomas’s own and relatively dark olive-toned skin, betraying some kind of Mediterranean heritage that his parents did not have. Daniel had made it clear enough in their conversations that Liam had not been adopted, which really only left one likely possibility.

Some of what Thomas had been thinking must have shown on his face, because Mrs. Greyling caught his eye with a challenging stare, as if daring him to say something. 

Thomas decided to put this information away for now and unpack it again later when he could be alone with his thoughts.

Then there was Hattie, who tried in vain to engage her mother in conversation, but Mrs. Greyling was no warmer with her daughter than she was with a near stranger like Thomas. Fortunately, Hattie had her father’s attention at the very least, but her disappointment at not gaining her mother’s open approval was palpable. Thomas could sympathize, as this was not unlike his relationship with his father when he was her age. 

And so it was out of solidarity that Thomas attempted to speak up for her. “So Hattie tells me that she wants to be a doctor, too. You must be very proud to have such an intelligent daughter.”

Hattie visibly brightened at his praise and Daniel smiled fondly. Mrs. Greyling smiled as well, but there was a bitter quality to it.

“Yes, Mr. Barrow, it certainly is an admirable aspiration,” said Mrs. Greyling, stabbing her fork into her chicken forcefully, “but unfortunately, intelligence doesn’t always get women very far in this world and my daughter seems to have disdain for those few feminine qualities that might give her a chance.”

“Effie,” began Daniel, whose jaw twitched in subtle indignation, “please…”

Sensing that the conversation was going south, Thomas boldly spoke over Daniel in an effort to prevent a spat. “You might be right about that now, but it’s a brave new world out there. It wasn’t too long ago that women didn’t even have the vote and now it’s yesterday’s news. Who knows what’s possible a decade from now?”

“That’s fair enough, Mr. Barrow, but I fear that you’re far more optimistic than I,” she said contritely, and went back to pointedly spearing her vegetables. Thomas almost laughed; no one had ever accused him of being optimistic before.

Silence fell again and Thomas seized the moment to discreetly study Mrs. Greyling. He couldn’t shake the sense that he knew her from somewhere and it had quite nagged at him all evening. Perhaps it was merely the everywoman character of her face, which was delicate and pretty in the most generic of ways, much like any comely woman in her thirties he might cross paths with in the street. Yet, there was something distinctive about her eyes. It was then that another possibility occurred to him.

“Pardon me if I seem forward, Mrs. Greyling, but I think we might have met somewhere before. You look rather familiar and I wonder if you might know my previous employers. Are you by any chance acquainted with the Earl of Grantham and his family?”

“Why yes, as a matter of fact. Before the war, when I was still a single girl, I used to run in the same circles as Lady Mary and Lady Edith. I usually socialized with them when they were staying at their London house.”

“I was tending their guests as a footman back then. I probably served you tea or poured you a glass of champagne depending on the occasion.”

“I’m sorry I can’t say that I recognize you as well, but then again, footmen aren’t meant to be memorable,” she stated matter of factly. “And look at us now, sharing a meal at the same table. Life is funny, isn’t it?”

Thomas couldn’t help but bristle a little on the inside at her slight, even though he had been on the receiving end of a hundred like it in his life. Daniel was also evidently not so pleased with his wife’s comment; his ears were a bright scarlet and his jaw was twitching even more aggressively than it had been moments ago. Despite these signs of dismay, however, Daniel said nothing. They all went back to eating their dinner in silence.

Mrs. Greyling ended up excusing herself from the table as Glenys came in with the pudding.

“I hate to dash, but I have an engagement and I’m already running late,” she said, standing up.

Out of sheer force of habit, Thomas stood as well and she regarded him with something like amusement sparkling in her hazel eyes. Chagrined that she had caught him out, he tried his best to recover.

“It was lovely meeting you, Mrs. Greyling.”

“You as well Mr. Barrow,” she said. “We’re all very glad to have you here.”

She probably didn’t care about his presence either way, but Thomas thought that it was decent of her to say so.

“Mum, are you coming tomorrow?” Hattie called out. 

Her mother turned back around in the doorway. “Coming where, darling?”

“Grandmama’s having guests over for Sunday luncheon after church tomorrow, remember?” asked Hattie, barely concealing her exasperation. “You said you’d be there.”

“Of course, I’ll see you and your brother there tomorrow.”

As soon as she was out the door, Hattie sighed. “She’s not coming.”

“She might surprise you,” said Daniel, sounding anything but optimistic.

Thankfully, the meal was finished soon after and Daniel took the children upstairs. Although Glenys tried to shoo him away, Thomas insisted on at least helping her clear the table. 

By the time Thomas made it back to his rooms, his body was exhausted but his mind was wide awake and buzzing. He removed his tie and jacket, planning to spend the remainder of the night on the sofa with one of Daniel’s books. Then there was a knock at his door.

Daniel was on the other side, looking a little embarrassed. “Listen, about what my wife said at dinner…”

“It’s fine, Daniel,” said Thomas, and when Daniel was about to interrupt, he held up his hand. “Honestly, it really is fine. She didn’t mean any offense.”

“That’s not the point, but I appreciate you being so magnanimous about it,” said Daniel. Clearly still feeling self-conscious, Daniel shook his head and brought a bottle and a couple of tumblers out from behind his back. “Anyway, I wanted to give you your housewarming gift. Somehow, a bottle of single malt scotch seemed appropriate. Are you feeling up for a nightcap?”

Thomas grinned as he reached out to accept the gift and then stood back to allow Daniel entry. Once inside, he sniffed the air.

“You know, I can hardly smell that disgusting potpourri now. I think it’s finally fading.”

“If we drink enough of this,” said Thomas, closing the door behind them and brandishing the bottle, “I bet we won’t smell it at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that Effie Greyling has come across as I intended, which is to say not just as a one-dimensional stereotype of a bitchy wife. I see her as being a pretty complicated woman and I'm looking forward to developing her a little more. Both she and Daniel have some layers that will be fun to peel back.
> 
> I'm also excited to start on the next chapter because I finally get to bring in a canonical DA character I've been dying to write but have not yet had a chance to. Now that I've introduced Daniel's world a little more, things are going to get a little more plot-y as well. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

The next couple of months sped by, and before Thomas knew it, it was already August. By this time, he had settled into a comfortable routine at the Greyling residence and considered that he actually was—dare he say it—happy. Perhaps for the first time in his life.

There were some aspects of this new life that were similar to how things had been for him at Downton Abbey, yet different in marked ways. It was like visiting a jazz club and listening to the band put their twist on an old standard, hitting many of the same beats but sculpting the well-known tune into something modern and exciting. An old, tired routine made new.

There was nothing unfamiliar in living under his employer’s roof, but the autonomy Thomas enjoyed in his Harley Street apartment far surpassed what he had previously taken for autonomy at Downton. Outside of work hours, he could come and go as he pleased without having to ask permission or give notification, unless he actually wanted someone to accompany him.

Even when he had been working so hard to reform his behavior in his last years as underbutler, Thomas had felt as if there was only so far he could go, that the family and other servants had known too much of his history to allow him to let go of his reserved and sometimes callous detachment completely. They had all held such uncharitable views of him for so long and had regarded him as being unfeeling and miserable to his core whilst simultaneously urging him to be happier, nicer. The problem was that when he tried to be kind and helpful, no one had believed him to be genuine.

But here, in this house, everyone was completely ignorant of the less savory aspects of his past. He found it relatively easy to be cheerful and nice because the people he lived with had no reason to doubt the authenticity of his behavior. Daniel, Glenys, the children, and even Effie never seemed to regard his altruism with the slightest suspicion. Because of this, his life was fuller and he felt freer.

This was not to say that everything in his world was perfect and rose-tinted.

His rapport with Glenys hit a bump a few weeks previously once he had worked up the nerve to quash her budding feelings for him. He had let her down with as much delicacy as possible, but he could tell he had hurt her all the same. Thomas wished that he could have given her the whole truth of it, that not very long ago he had put himself through hell so that he might come out the other side with the ability to love and desire someone like her. Without this sincerity in his explanation, he knew his excuses had come out as feeble, but he still tried to assure her that it wasn’t because of any shortcomings on her part. She had been uncharacteristically quiet with him after that, but just the other day she laughed at a joke he had told when he was helping her in the kitchen. He took this as a sign that things between them would mend before long.

Thomas had never claimed to have an easy time of reading women, so he appreciated that Glenys was the kind who wore her heart on her sleeve, her every facial expression mirroring her emotions. Even though he wasn’t completely in her favor at the moment, he at least knew where he stood. Effie, on the other hand, was a different animal altogether.

There were some days when she was so stand-offish that she would hardly acknowledge his presence, or anyone else’s for that matter. Other times, she would join Thomas in the garden at night for a smoke and she would laugh and joke with him conspiratorially like they were old friends. But this was only on the few days out of the week that she was even at home.

Thomas wondered where Effie went most of the time and found it peculiar that Daniel didn’t seem to wonder at all. He supposed this had much to do with the couple’s general estrangement, but he had never seen a man so unconcerned about the societal optics of having a wayward wife. Had Effie been a member of the Crawley family, Thomas was sure they would have demanded she be more discreet to keep the reputation of the family intact.

From what he could glean, Daniel only seemed to care about her not being home insofar as how her frequent absences affected the children. At least, this had been the primary subject every time Thomas overheard Daniel and Effie arguing. Well, he called it arguing, but arguing required at least a little passion behind it. The words exchanged between the man and lady of the house were exhaustingly perfunctory, as if they had endured the same discussion a thousand times before and would a thousand more.

Aside from this quiet bickering, when they were together Daniel and Effie were quite civil, if still cold, with one another, but Thomas felt the tension in the air nonetheless, taut as a bowstring. In any case, if this was the worst that Thomas had to face in this house, he would gladly weather it; though uncomfortable, it did not involve him directly. At least, Thomas thought, until it eventually snapped. In that case, who knew what, or who, would get hit in the crossfire.

 

***

Thomas knocked on the door to the exam room and Daniel let him in, exhaling in relief and mouthing ‘thank you’ as Thomas handed him the gold salts. He suspected that Daniel had been listening to his patient grumble while waiting for Thomas to return.

“I managed to find some in the supply closet, but we’re low,” said Thomas. “It’s a bit late now, so I’ll place an order first thing on Monday. Shall I double it, to be safe?”

“I think so, Mr. Barrow,” said Daniel, filling a syringe with the solution. “Mr. Scrope, it looks like you’re having the injection after all.”

Thomas looked over at the old man on the exam table. He was wretchedly sour-faced in a way that bespoke a constant ill-temperament; the expression seemed so immoveable, Thomas wondered if it would sound like rocks shifting if the man ever consented to crack a smile. However, the wringing of his hands, which were heavily knotted with rheumatism, betrayed the anxiety he was feeling. Despite the formidable appearance of his face, he looked strangely vulnerable sitting there in his undergarments and sock garters.

“I told you already,” he said impatiently. “I don’t like needles.”

“Some physicians do prescribe it orally, but it isn’t nearly as effective. And frankly, Mr. Scrope, your arthritis is so advanced that I would not be comfortable with taking a less aggressive approach and thereby risking further damage to your joints. It’s the best I can do outside of more surgery. I understand that the injection is painful, but I believe that will be greatly outweighed by the benefits,” Daniel explained gently.

Oftentimes, in Thomas’s opinion, Daniel was too gentle. Especially when his more obstinate patients required a firmer hand.

The old man was clearly about to continue arguing, so Thomas figured that he needed it put more bluntly. “Look at it this way, Mr. Scrope: you can experience a painful jab for a few seconds or you can be in constant pain for who knows how long. It’s up to you, but I know which one I’d choose.”

“Fine,” relented Mr. Scrope, scowling as he lifted the hem of his shorts to expose more of his thigh for the injection. “Let’s just bloody well get it over with.”

He looked dejected and Thomas felt a surge of pity for the old man. He considered that it was because Mr. Scrope could very well be Thomas himself in forty years’ time, if he should even live that long. The very image of lonely bitterness, showing nothing but antipathy for the world and the people in it. Thomas might be content now, but he was sure it couldn’t last. And when he inevitably became the grumpy old man who stubbornly refused to do what his doctor told him, he hoped that there would be someone who would be kind and patient with him.

“Here, why don’t you grab onto my arm? Squeeze hard as you like, you won’t hurt me,” said Thomas, offering his right arm.

Mr. Scrope grudgingly clasped a gnarled hand around Thomas’s forearm, perhaps a little too close to the scarring on his wrist for comfort. His scars did indeed twinge from the pressure of Mr. Scrope’s grip when Daniel administered the injection, but it was wholly worth it just for the appreciative look that Daniel gave him when the old man wasn’t looking.

“Well done,” said Thomas, surreptitiously rubbing his wrist once the needle was out and Mr. Scrope had let go. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Mr. Scrope merely grunted and Thomas gave him a soft clap on the shoulder before sidling out of the room. Before he could make it back to his desk, Daniel called out to him.

“The phone rang while you were downstairs,” said Daniel, leaning out of the doorway. “I know Mr. Scrope was supposed to be our last patient today, but we need to squeeze in an emergency appointment. He’s coming right over and I wrote him down in the schedule already. I’m going to finish up with Mr. Scrope in the consulting room, so if he arrives before then, would you mind going over the preliminaries with him first?”

Thomas nodded with a smile, but inwardly groaned when Daniel disappeared before he could clarify who the patient was. He didn’t mind going through an extra appointment, but he hated it when Daniel wrote anything in the schedule book. His friend’s handwriting was barely legible and to make it worse, he abbreviated his patient’s names. In Mrs. Haversham’s absence, Daniel had been scheduling patients and Thomas was left to decipher weeks’ worth of chicken scratch. However, he had made great strides since he first started and now boasted about a seventy percent success rate in guessing the correct name when Daniel was unavailable for clarification. If he was able to get the first three to four letters of the patient’s last name, he could usually match it with the right file.

Unfortunately, once Thomas looked at his book, he saw that Daniel’s hand was even sloppier that day than was typical. After several long minutes of staring from different angles, Thomas thought he could make out “D. Gram.” written down. He went to the filing cabinet and made it all the way through the “G”s twice when he heard the front door open.

“Thank you, Rogers. I can manage from here,” someone said from the hall, clearly in some pain.

The voice was warped from strain yet there was something recognizable in it that gave Thomas a pang. Before he could begin to place why it was familiar, he walked into the hall to offer his assistance.

The sight that greeted Thomas made him stop dead in his tracks.

“Philip,” he said with a voice that sounded pathetically small to his ears, staring at the man whose shock must have mirrored his own.

“Thomas,” said Philip, mouth agape. “I’ll be damned.”

This was too much. Thomas’s heart was battering his rib cage like a cudgel and he felt as if he were swallowing around cotton balls. He wanted to turn tail and run out of the hall, but that wasn’t an option; Daniel would have questions that Thomas couldn’t possibly answer if he were to act in such a strange manner. He couldn’t panic, not here and not now. They continued to stare at one another for an interminable amount of time before Thomas remembered himself.

“Your Grace,” said Thomas, valiantly attempting to school his expression into one of professional neutrality. “May I take your hat?” he asked, that being the first thing that popped into his head.

Of the many things Thomas had fantasized about saying to Philip in the event that they should meet again one day, politely offering a gesture of social etiquette was not one of them. Apparently, that was not what his former lover had expected either. Thomas felt hot from embarrassment and longed to sink into the floorboards if only to escape the baffled way in which Philip was currently regarding him. Nevertheless, following a few awkward ticks of the hall clock, he thankfully took Thomas’s cue.

“Um… yes. Yes, please,” said Philip, shaking his head and blinking rapidly before recovering with an affable smile. Thomas noted that both of their hands trembled slightly as he took the proffered hat. “So, you work here now, I gather?”

“Yes, I was brought in as Dr. Greyling’s assistant when Mrs. Haversham retired. Do you need some help…?” Thomas gestured vaguely at where Philip was heavily leaning on a silver-handled cane.

“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself. I’ll go through, shall I?” he asked, nodding towards the waiting room. Thomas was grateful for this response, as he didn’t think he could bear to touch Philip right now.

“Please take a seat at the desk and make yourself comfortable. Dr. Greyling is finishing up with a patient and will be with you shortly. I’ll be right back with your file.”

Thomas turned without waiting for a response and walked as quickly as he could towards the closet that contained the filing cabinets. Once inside, he closed the door and rested his back against it, breathing shallowly. As much as he hated the cliched expression, Thomas did indeed feel as if he had seen a ghost.

The last night they had been alone together, the night the letters had burned along with all of his desires and aspirations, was still one of Thomas’s sharpest memories. With the number of times he had played that scene forward and backward in his mind over the years, the feelings it evoked were never too far from the surface. And now, seeing Philip’s face in the light of day without warning was enough to make him feel like he was drowning in them.

Thomas closed his eyes and counted to ten, doing his best to collect himself before opening the correct drawer in the filing cabinet. He cursed Daniel and his abominable handwriting under his breath; not only was everything he wrote illegible, but inconsistent to boot. Even if Thomas had not falsely interpreted what he now supposed had to be “D. Crow.” all files were catalogued by last name, never by title. At least in this case, the name Thomas was looking for was not one he was able to forget, and so he quickly found the one marked “Beresford, Philip.” File in hand, Thomas steeled himself and walked back into the waiting room.

Without any preamble, Thomas took a seat and glanced only briefly across his desk at Philip before diving into the file. He scanned its contents and learned that Philip had fractured his tibia and dislocated his knee in a riding accident six months ago and had been undergoing treatment with Daniel. His last visit had been a couple of weeks before Thomas started.

“May I ask what brings you in so suddenly today, Your Grace? You appear to be in some pain,” commented Thomas, still training his eyes on the file’s text. He was grateful that Daniel had seen fit to type his notes from Philip’s last appointment.

“Yes, I’m afraid I am,” said Philip. Thomas couldn’t tell if the way he was gritting his teeth was purely from discomfort or if his patience with Thomas’s evasiveness was wearing thin. “I find that my knee is in rather a bad way after a stumble I took this afternoon. Luckily, I caught myself before I hit the floor, but I still managed to twist my leg.”

“When you were last in,” Thomas plowed on, focused on the pen scratching away at the paper in front of him, “you complained of some minor pain in your right hip and knee so Dr. Greyling altered your prescribed exercises and advised against anything more strenuous than light walking. Aside from today’s accident, have his recommendations been working for you?”

“I would say so, yes. His previous assessment was spot on. I have only my own clumsiness to blame,” said Philip, twisting in his seat as he emitted a light but uncomfortable chuckle.

“Mhm,” replied Thomas, writing in some more superfluous notes in a bid for time. What was taking Daniel so long? He wondered if Mr. Scrope was still arguing about ongoing treatment options.

“Won’t you look at me?”

It was the tone of Philip’s voice rather than the words themselves that finally drew Thomas’s eyes upward. It was soft and pleading, completely devoid of the brusque entitlement that had seemed to always be present in his speech.

There was a matching softness to his expression when their eyes met, also uncharacteristic but seemingly genuine. Now that he was truly looking at the man in front of him, Thomas took the opportunity to map the new lines in his face and the smattering of gray hairs around his temples. Time had clearly passed, but it had been kind to him and Thomas considered that he was no less beautiful than he had been all those years ago. He could almost feel that love for Philip again, hanging there like some kind of phantom limb that he knew would never come back but would never completely leave him either.

“Thomas, listen…”

Whatever it was that Philip wanted him to hear had to be put on hold, because it was then that the door to the consulting room opened down the hall and two pairs of feet were approaching.

“Goodbye, Mr. Scrope. Mr. Barrow will see you out to your taxi,” said Daniel, his exasperation with the old man coming through only enough for Thomas’s trained ear to discern. He handed the man off to Thomas, who stood and rushed over.

As Thomas was helping the shuffling Mr. Scrope across the hall and out the front door, he tried to catch some of the exchange between the two men before they migrated to the examination room.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace. I was disappointed to hear that you’ve suffered an injury after making so much progress.”

“Only a minor setback, I’m sure. And please, I really must insist you call me Philip…”

Thomas couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes at Philip’s ingratiating and borderline flirtatious tone. He had used the same tone with Thomas once upon a time and he felt a hot surge of jealousy well up inside him, although he was conflicted as to exactly which of the two men this jealousy was directed towards. He tried to shake it off, because Philip was barking up the wrong tree anyhow and any advances on his part would ultimately be of no consequence. It didn’t surprise him that Philip would find Daniel as dashing as Thomas himself did, but he was rather miffed about the abrupt change in his demeanor. Philip had always been able to shift emotional gears quickly and it made Thomas wonder if he had simply imagined the raw moment between them.

When he made it back inside, he refrained from listening in at the door, even though he was concerned that Philip might be saying some revealing things about Thomas that he would rather Daniel not be privy to. But surely, what damaging things could Philip say about Thomas without incriminating himself in the process? Now he was just being paranoid.

He wasn’t left to stew in his anxiety for very long, however, as Daniel soon had him running outside to retrieve Philip’s knee brace from his automobile, which he had brought with him “just in case.” When he brought it inside to the examination room, Daniel stopped him before he could leave.

“Mr. Barrow, wait a moment, please?” Daniel requested. “Your Grace—Philip—if you are amenable, I’m going to have Mr. Barrow assist me with fitting the brace since we need to adjust the degree of mobility.”

“By all means. It can’t be so different from valeting,” smiled Philip, revealing that he had spoken to Daniel of his shared past with Thomas, if only on a superficial level.

Thomas wished he could retort that this was medical and required a little more finesse than buttoning a waist coat. It made him feel a little better that he could detect some uneasiness in Philip’s veneer of amiability.

Thomas merely nodded stiffly and he could have sworn that Daniel glanced at him questioningly before they set about getting Philip’s leg into the brace and adjusting the leather buckles. He had been right; touching Philip was anything but easy.

“You’re in very good hands,” Daniel reassured Philip as he stood back to allow Thomas to finish adjusting the hinges to the right tightness. “Mr. Barrow has excellent skills in fine-tuning things like braces and traction devices. He has a real gift for the mechanical.”

“How appropriate. Your father was a clockmaker, was he not?” asked Philip. He colored instantly, likely realizing this was a peculiarly intimate thing to know about a man who had valeted for him several times well over a decade ago.

“That’s quite the impressive memory you have, Your Grace,” said Thomas, failing to keep his voice as light as he intended.

“Ah, yes. Funny, those little things that stick with us,” said Philip. He cleared his throat noisily.

Thomas would have smacked him if Daniel had not been in the room.

“How does that feel to you?” asked Daniel, motioning for Philip to rise and try out the brace. “Is it comfortable?”

“Perfect,” replied Philip, taking a few steps and bending his leg. “Well, as perfect as any awkward contraption can feel on one’s leg. Well done, Mr. Barrow.”

Thomas gave only another stiff nod. Truth be told, being so close to Philip was making him feel out of sorts and he was more than ready for the visit to be over.

After settling up and readying himself to go, Philip—to Thomas’s intense chagrin—saw fit to leave them with a proposal.

“I say, it was jolly good of you two to accommodate me on such short notice,” said Philip in that easy way of his.

Daniel opened his mouth to say something along the lines of “no trouble at all” or “our pleasure,” but Philip held up a silencing hand.

“Truly, I appreciate your services very much, which is why I hope you will allow me to thank you properly by inviting the both of you to attend a small party at my residence on Sunday afternoon.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose…” said Daniel. To most people it would have sounded like a refusal that was done once out of politeness, but Thomas knew Daniel well enough to hear the quiet note of panic.

“Nonsense,” said Philip, “I would be pleased to have you as my guests. It’s just a small to-do that my wife has thrown together. One of her friends is a very talented violinist and he’s agreed to a small performance. It’s nothing formal, but it should be an enjoyable afternoon. Do say you’ll come.”

Thomas watched as Daniel took a moment to weigh his options, the part of him that loathed being amongst a potentially large group of people he didn’t know warring with the part of him that dearly loved classical music. Thomas was hoping that he would decline, but one could hardly turn down an invitation from a duke. His stomach sank when Daniel smiled at Philip and nodded his head.

“Of course, we’d be delighted to attend. Wouldn’t we, Mr. Barrow?”

“Yes, delighted,” said Thomas, putting on the most winsome smile he could muster whilst his insides twisted. He had no idea what Philip was playing at and was not eager to find out.

“Wonderful. Guests will be arriving at one o’clock. As I said, this isn’t a formal affair, so a suit will be adequate attire.”

“Thank you, Your Grace—Philip,” Daniel corrected again. “We look forward to it.”

Thomas lent Philip a hand in reaching his automobile, but thankfully they were intercepted by Rogers the chauffeur, preventing Philip from trying to further gain Thomas’s ear.

“What have I gotten us into?” asked Daniel when Thomas returned.

“It’s hard to tell,” replied Thomas, feeling nauseous.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have agreed for you. I can see you’re not happy about going, but I didn’t know how to refuse. I’ll go by myself and make your excuses, if you prefer.”

Thomas felt his irritation drain away as Daniel looked at him abashedly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know how that lot can be and I’d not leave you to face that pack of wolves by yourself.”

“It’s true that I’m not keen on parties, but calling them a pack of wolves is a bit harsh, don’t you think? I mean, I don’t expect it will be anything like the parties my in-laws throw. I’ve heard his wife is the bohemian sort and Philip has always been quite friendly towards me for a man of his status.”

Philip was always quite friendly towards the men he wanted to take to bed, but for obvious reasons, it was best that Daniel remain ignorant on that point. As for the duchess, she would have to be ‘the bohemian sort’ to allow her husband to keep on with his doubtlessly frequent dalliances, because he was certainly not subtle enough to hide them from her for their entire marriage. And they had been married for well over a decade now, because Thomas distinctly remembered reading their wedding announcement in the paper the same week it had carried the headline about the archduke’s assassination in Bosnia. He wondered how the poor woman had refrained from strangling Philip all these years.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t be so uncharitable. I think I’m only feeling strange about attending this sort of thing as a guest rather than as a servant.”

“Of course, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Don’t go beating yourself up, I’ll be fine. Besides, it might be nice to hear live music for once instead of staying home and listening to the wireless,” said Thomas, despite the statement being a mistruth. Privately, he thought nothing was better than sitting down after a long day to listen to the wireless with Daniel, a drink in hand. It was a ritual that felt so tranquil and domestic, he was half the time afraid it wasn’t real.

In any case, he watched as Daniel visibly lit up at the prospect of listening to a likely famous violinist and Thomas was at least glad that one of them would enjoy themselves.

Later that evening, Thomas found that he didn’t have much of an appetite. Seeing Philip, as well as the promise of seeing him again before the weekend was through, had Thomas feeling as if something were gnawing away at his gut from the inside out. He forced himself to eat most of the pork chop and potatoes Glenys had served him—the rest was furtively fed to Plato under the table—so that he did not hurt her feelings by implying that her excellent cooking was subpar.

Thomas and Glenys were upstairs eating with Daniel and the children, as this was one of the nights that Effie happened to be away. This was a rather unorthodox situation, one that went uncommented on outside of the first time Glenys explained it to him. If Effie was home, Thomas and Glenys ate downstairs in the kitchen; if Effie was out, the two of them ate in the dining room upstairs. Effie, of course, didn’t think it proper to dine with staff while Daniel didn’t see the sense in eating the same meal at the same time in separate rooms. Thus the dining compromise they currently found themselves in. Thomas enjoyed those nights upstairs; it was the closest he’d ever felt to being part of a family, even if he wasn’t in actuality.

He was enjoying it a little less that night, as Thomas was aware that he was acting twitchy. He had to stop himself several times when he caught himself rubbing at his wrists, an anxious tic that had developed while his scars healed and hadn’t gone away once they did. The third time he did it, he noticed Daniel’s inquiring eyes flickering over to him, although he ignored it.

In any case, he was not the only one at the table who was distracted and sour. Shortly after Philip left, an exasperated Effie arrived home with her upset daughter in tow. For as much as Hattie craved her mother’s company, things never seemed to run smoothly when the two actually did spend some rare mother-daughter time together. Thomas had missed most of the kerfuffle, but he learned that the disagreement had arisen during a dress fitting for some upcoming fete at the grandparents’ house. According to Hattie, who was a bit of a tomboy, her mother had tried to force her into a frock that made her look like a “cupcake,” and in her haste to get out of it, she accidentally ripped the thing and made the seamstress cry. After exchanging some tense words with Daniel over the debacle, Effie retreated to her room to change and go back out again, leaving her family behind to stew.

Thomas was grateful that Glenys kept up a steady flow of her customary upbeat chatter while Liam grinned and giggled as he ate one pea at a time with his fingers. Otherwise, Thomas was sure dinner would have been quite unbearable. Daniel appeared to carry along the light air of normality, supplying affirmative noises at Glenys’s comments while nudging Liam to use his cutlery, but it was clear to Thomas that his heart wasn’t in it. He knew that Daniel worried over his daughter and that he was probably also concerned that by agreeing to attend the duke’s party he had contributed to Thomas’s disquietude.

Daniel grew even more quiet after dinner, when he, Thomas, and Hattie retreated to the sitting room while Glenys took Liam upstairs to get him ready for bed. With Thomas and Hattie entrenched in a competitive game of checkers, Daniel completely withdrew into himself now that his direct attention was no longer required. He held a book open in his lap, but Thomas hadn’t heard him turn a page in the last half hour.

Living with the man, Thomas began to take notice of Daniel’s occasional dips into melancholy. It was nothing overt and no one besides Thomas even seemed to notice. It was as if there was an unfathomably deep well of sadness inside Daniel, and he simply couldn’t always prevent it from overflowing. It showed in the way Daniel currently looked up to smile wanly at him, thought Thomas; bittersweet when his whole face should be alight. He wished he knew what the source of Daniel’s sadness was, so that he could dispel it. It was hard for Thomas not to reach out and touch him, to envelop Daniel in his arms and plant a kiss in his curly hair. He wanted to see through that carefully reserved exterior and truly know what was beneath it. He knew he ought to banish these painful fantasies, before he reached the point where he was foolish enough to act on them and really muck everything up.   
  
Thomas needed to get out of the house that night, and he needed to do it soon.

“I win!” proclaimed Hattie, bringing Thomas back out of his head.

“So you have,” said Thomas, looking down at the board. “Wasn’t it nice of me to let you win?”

“You did not, I won on my own because I’m better than you,” said Hattie, shoving his arm playfully when she noticed the smirk on his face.

“You’re right, of course,” said Thomas, laughing. “How did you get so good?”

“Dad taught me,” she said. “Do you want another go?”

“I think this tired old man needs to get to bed,” said Thomas, feigning a yawn. “Next time I’ll teach you how to play pontoon. That’s my game.”

“You’re going to teach my daughter how to gamble, are you?” asked Daniel, offering a warmer smile this time even if it was still distant.

“It’s a valuable life skill,” Thomas said, winking at Hattie. “Maybe your dad will play the next one with you.”

Hattie looked hopefully at her father, who shrugged and made to take Thomas’s place. “Alright, but just one game. Good night, Thomas.”

“Good night, Thomas,” parroted Hattie.

“Good night,” said Thomas, although he was secretly far too restless for his to be over just yet.

***

Thomas felt the ache in his backside acutely when he ambled down the steps into the Greylings’ garden.

After sneaking out of the house, he had found himself back at that seedy little hole in the wall in Soho for the first time since he had taken his new job. The excursion had also felt more necessary, even urgent, than it had since then, what with the overwhelming emotions of the day. The ever-simmering feelings Thomas held for Daniel, living and working with him day after day with no reprieve, were enough to be getting on with, but the encounter with Philip had left him so shaken that he knew he needed more than a cigarette and a good night’s sleep to set him right.

At the smoke-filled pub, Thomas managed to seduce a red-haired man, who possessed a bravado to match his eager and sizable erection. The redhead fortunately had a small flat to go back to, where Thomas all but demanded the man bugger him senseless. He took Thomas at his word and gave him a pounding that he was sure to feel for days to come. The man had been considerate enough to jerk Thomas while he fucked him and had pulled out before coming inside, but he was not affectionate nor loquacious, so Thomas dressed himself shortly after and began the long walk home. His head still didn’t feel as clear as he would like it to be.

Thomas hadn’t made it more than a few steps over the threshold of his apartment door before he heard a crash in the garden. Acting on instinct, he quickly grabbed his fireplace poker and rushed back into the hall and out through the garden door.

His adrenaline rush began to subside when he saw that it was only an incredibly inebriated Effie, returning from her own nighttime adventure. And she wasn’t alone.

It took a minute for Thomas to observe the man’s face, as he was bent over to collect the shards of an overturned ceramic pot, but when he did, a spark of recognition was ignited. Rather, seeing Effie and the man together was what brought everything back to him, because they were the same couple who had walked straight into him in Soho the night of his liaison with the burly Italian.

Well. Wasn’t that something?

“Oh, Thomas!” cried Effie, her voice much too loud in the still night air. “I’m ever so sorry, please tell me we didn’t wake you! I’m such a clumsy clot.”

“No, but I’ll admit you gave me a scare. Thought you might have been a burglar,” said Thomas, now feeling very foolish holding on to the fireplace poker.

“Would you have impaled me if I was? That’s very bold of you,” she said with a drunken snicker.

Thomas always had a hard time telling if her remarks were meant to be caustic or if they were merely in fun.

“Who’s this, then?” asked Thomas, choosing to ignore her comment and looked instead to the man she was leaning on. Now that made him feel bold.

“This is Javier,” she said, as if she were introducing him to a friendly acquaintance rather than the man with whom she was having a torrid affair. “Javier, this is Thomas, my husband’s assistant.”

Javier managed a tight nod in Thomas’s direction before turning back to Effie. “I think it best if I get along now. I will see you Sunday, yes?” he asked, with a Spanish accent to match his Spanish name.

“Si, mi amor,” purred Effie, giggling as she kissed him right on the mouth, smoothing his mustache with her thumbs afterwards. It was an intimate gesture and Thomas wished she hadn’t done it in front of him.

Without sparing Thomas a second glance, Javier jogged up the garden steps and jumped into the car idling in the street above.

When Thomas looked back at Effie, she stumbled as she tried to retrieve her cigarette case from her purse. Not wanting her to fall over, Thomas leapt forward to put a steadying hand beneath her elbow and steered her towards the wall. She leaned back and finally managed to pull out the case, opening it and offering a cigarette to Thomas.

Why not, he thought, placing one between his lips. He pulled his lighter from his breast pocket, first lighting hers, then his. They both took a few deep drags before Effie spoke.

“Javier took me out dancing. It was such fun,” she said somewhat flatly, exhaling blue smoke into the dark. “Daniel used to take me dancing, ever such a long time ago. He’s a wonderful dancer, you know, very graceful and strong. He doesn’t dance anymore, though, and he likes to think it’s my fault. But the truth is he doesn’t want to dance with me, not really. I think he never did. Javier isn’t a great dancer, but at least he wants me as a partner.”

Thomas didn’t know how to respond to that. He couldn’t bring himself to judge her, not when she had the bravery to speak with such honesty. He should be ill-at-ease, listening to these scandalous confessions from the wife of his best friend, but he knew that Daniel knew about her. This way, he wasn't really betraying Daniel’s trust.

“Did you just get in yourself? You’re looking a bit disheveled,” observed Effie. “What exciting things did you get up to?”

“Dancing,” Thomas replied bitingly.

“Of the horizontal variety?”

That struck Thomas cold and he choked on the smoke in his lungs. He coughed and Effie gave him a few surprisingly hard thumps on the back. It was all fine and well for Effie to spill her guts to him if she wanted, but he wasn’t about to divulge anything in return. It dawned on him anew just how risky his evening had actually been.

“There’s no need to feel ashamed, Thomas. It means that you’re a healthy, hot-blooded man,” she said, removing her hand when he was done spluttering.

She wouldn’t dare touch him if she knew he’d just enthusiastically enjoyed taking another man’s cock inside him. She would recoil.

“Daniel, on the other hand—well, they say only women can be frigid, but they haven’t met my husband. Listen to me, I must be the only woman in England who actually wants her husband to step out on her. Maybe he would if he wasn’t so busy playing the long-suffering martyr.”

Thomas wished Effie would just finish her damn cigarette and go inside. She was hitting a little too close to home with her comments and he didn’t like listening to her speak about Daniel that way when he wasn’t there to defend himself. He was more than ready for this awkward one-sided conversation to be over. But alas, it seemed that she wasn’t done.

“Do you like it here, Thomas? I mean, are you happy?” she asked with a small voice, punctuated by a hiccup. It was very nearly the same question Daniel had directed at him in the pub before handing him the letter that would change his life.

“Yes, I’m very happy here,” said Thomas truthfully.

He looked over to Effie, curious as to what had brought on that particular question, only to see her face crumple. Tears carved wet tracks down her cheeks, glinting in the dim light emanating from his apartment window.

“I hate it here,” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.

Thomas could hear the abject pain in her words. He very nearly put a hand on her shoulder, but thinking it inappropriate, pulled his arm back to his side. She cried for several more minutes and Thomas let her without a word, watching as her cigarette turned into a column of ash.

“It’s a strange and horrid thing to live in a house where I’m unwanted by everyone in it,” said Effie.

Thomas thought that was plainly untrue, at least where her children were concerned; but remembering the heated quarreling between mother and daughter only hours ago, he decided it was not the time to say so.

“Can you understand what that feels like? To be so lonely in your own home?” she asked, her bleary eyes trying to focus on him. It was not a rhetorical question.

“I can, actually, more than you might realize. My whole life…” Thomas cut himself off, as the next words were too painful to speak in his bone-tired state.

“What did you do about it?” she asked, as if she genuinely wanted to know the answer.

“Eventually, after way too many years fighting against it, I left,” said Thomas.

Effie nodded at him solemnly.

“Well, Thomas, as it’s very late and I am very drunk, I think I ought to get to bed,” said Effie, grinding her finished cigarette beneath her shoe and turning to walk inside.

“Would you like me to help you upstairs?” asked Thomas.

“No, thank you, I can manage,” she said before disappearing into the dark hallway.

When Thomas climbed into his bed, exhausted down to his soul, it was not Daniel, nor Philip, nor the red-headed man that occupied his thoughts. It was the sad woman who had wept in the garden, and in so doing, had somehow made them understood to one another, forging a bridge between islands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> 1\. I have made a conscious decision to use American spelling as opposed to British English spelling in this story. I'm aware some of you may be annoyed by this, but my concern was, as an American, that I would be too inconsistent if I tried to use British English spelling. I may go back later and edit for this.
> 
> 2\. I'm not sure if Philip actually has a last name that is disclosed in canon and I couldn't find one, so I made one up for him.
> 
> 3\. One of the biggest challenges I've had in writing this is the medical research and I've had a hard time finding comprehensive resources. Gold salts are a real thing, although I've taken a few liberties with the timeline (they were used in the '20s, but perhaps not as early as this) and the application (Daniel would be more commonly treating osteoarthritis as opposed to rheumatoid). I've tried not to be too anachronistic, but please let me know if you find any glaring errors!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A substantial amount of this chapter discusses Thomas's suicide attempt, so skip the second half if you'd rather not read about it.

The London residence of the Duke and Duchess of Crowborough had undergone some aesthetic renovation since the last time Thomas had walked—or more accurately, sneaked through—its halls. This was to be expected, as that had been before the war and Philip’s pockets had been re-lined many times over during those years, courtesy of the American heiress he called his wife.

The marble foyer gleamed beneath their feet as Thomas and Daniel first went through to where several smartly-dressed women were congregated in the next room over. The style of decoration was sleek and modern, grays and whites with shocks of pink and teal, all clean lines and geometric patterns. The room had been entirely purged of the heavily-carved wood furniture and fading tapestries, all leftover vestiges of the time when Philip’s father had carried the title of duke. They did not dwell there for long, however, as they were quickly ushered out of doors to the courtyard where the tinkling of glass and laughter floated through the hazy late summer air.

Thomas felt Daniel tense a little beside him when they descended the garden steps into the modest crowd of people. He had learned that Daniel was not one to socialize more than he had to outside of his work and the occasional class he instructed at the gymnasium or hospital. In those professional settings, Daniel was relatively self-assured and comfortable from what Thomas could observe. Otherwise, Daniel made very few social calls, preferring to spend time at home with Glenys and the kids—and Thomas. It was only after observing Daniel’s habits over these past months that Thomas realized how much of a leap it had been for Daniel to visit him at the pub as often as he had. Funnily enough, Daniel’s present nervousness actually made Thomas himself a little braver, as if he needed to muster up enough confidence for the both of them.

“We don’t need to stay long, maybe just an hour or so. That’ll be long enough not to be rude and then we can make our excuses. Sound alright to you?” asked Thomas, bumping Daniel lightly with his shoulder.

Daniel only nodded, but Thomas thought he looked thankful for the suggestion, as he knew he would be.

Philip spotted them within seconds and limped over as quickly as his cane and knee brace would allow him.

“Delighted you could make it,” said Philip, all smiles as he clasped their hands in a firm shake.

The day was so bright and lovely, Thomas didn’t have to try too hard to smile back.

“Thank you for having us,” said Daniel, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the chatter.

“My pleasure,” Philip said to Daniel, a little too affectionately for Thomas’s liking. “My wife will want to meet you. I told her you were coming.”

He beckoned to a woman in a surprisingly simple olive-green frock, who extricated herself from some other guests to make her way over. Thomas had never seen so much as a photograph of Philip’s wife and found it a curious experience to look upon the woman who was now married to the man he’d once shared a bed with. Rich dark hair framed her long face, which featured a prominent nose that overpowered her chin; Thomas thought her very striking and she exuded an aura of warmth and strong-willed presence. Two large yellow gem stones dangled from her ears and Thomas was dazzled with the way they caught the sun.

“Your Grace,” said Daniel, taking her hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

“You as well, Dr. Greyling. My husband and I are so grateful for all you’ve done,” she said genially. “I must say, that Midwestern accent of yours is making me a little homesick. I’m struggling to remember whereabouts Philip told me you were from—Indiana, Michigan?”

“Illinois, actually. Chicago.”

“You don’t say. I’m an Ohio girl myself, but my husband probably told you that already,” she said before turning to Thomas. She was regarding him in a way that Thomas could only call appraising. “And you must be Dr. Greyling’s assistant.”

“Ruth, this is Mr. Thomas Barrow,” Philip interjected, not quite as smoothly as he was usually capable of.

“Mr. Barrow, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Your Grace,” said Thomas, also taking her hand. Her gaze felt heavy on him.

“Now we really must get you both a drink,” said the duchess, removing her eyes from Thomas to flag down one of the footmen floating around with trays of gin rickeys. 

Thomas felt strange indeed to be accepting a cocktail from a footman; he half expected someone to come over and scold him as soon as he took a sip. That a man like him should even be invited to a party hosted by a duke and duchess—by Philip, no less—was a little bit astonishing, even if he was no longer a servant and the gathering was a casual one. The only times Thomas ever shared a drink with Philip when they had been together was in private, either before or after sex. But, thought Thomas, something in Philip seemed to have softened over the years. Perhaps now that he had financial security he didn’t feel the need to overcompensate by flaunting his social status as he had in his younger years. Or, perhaps, it was the influence of his wife that had taken some of that aristocratic stiffness out of his bearing.

It was evident upon meeting her that, although still wealthy and privileged, the duchess did not stand on ceremony in quite the way the Crawleys did. Daniel’s earlier description of her as bohemian seemed accurate, especially considering the guests at her party. He stood by as she pointed out some of the other people in attendance, most of them creative types—artists, playwrights, musicians—save for a few vaguely familiar upper-crust ladies and gents smattered throughout. To see such a diverse array of people there made Thomas feel a little less self-conscious, but it still wouldn’t surprise him if it was he who occupied the lowest rung on the social ladder.

When the duchess eventually pointed out a Mr. Fritz Kreisler, Daniel lit up like a child on Christmas morning. Their hosts confirmed he was indeed the violinist who would be gracing them with an informal performance in short order, and excused themselves to make the announcement.

“That man is a master violinist,” Daniel whispered in Thomas’s ear, close enough for him to feel his ghosting breath. “I heard him play with the London Symphony Orchestra a couple of years back, and he was really spectacular. Just wait, you’ll be glad we came for this.”

An upright piano had even been brought outside for the occasion and Thomas and Daniel found a suitable spot to stand and observe off to the side about ten feet behind it. Presently, a man with thick graying hair and a mustache took his place on the lawn and announced to the gathering that he would be playing Beethoven’s Violin Sonata No. 3.

Thomas considered himself largely ignorant about classical music, but it was plain that this man was an enormous talent as soon as he and the accompanist began to play. His bow floated effortlessly back and forth across the strings, producing a mellifluous sound that made the air around them tingle with it. The expressiveness of Kreisler’s performance made it all too easy to become lost as one note flowed seamlessly into another, especially in such a small and intimate setting wherein all was still and quiet except for the violinist himself. As much as the music captivated him, somewhere near the performance’s end Thomas was compelled to look over at Daniel.

And what Thomas saw made his breath catch. He found Daniel to be so moved that there were unshed tears in his eyes. He must have felt Thomas’s gaze on him because he turned to meet it. The world around him slid out of focus, even the sound of the music, and only the man beside him stood out from it all in sharp relief. The watery smile he gave Thomas was small but so lovely and full of joy that Thomas would have given anything if only Daniel kept looking at him like that. He had never seen anything more beautiful.

He had never felt love for anyone more deeply than he felt for Daniel in that moment. 

The feeling was exhilarating and excruciating in equal measure and Thomas thought he might burst from it. Mercifully, the piece ended shortly thereafter but even the applause didn’t shake Thomas from the aftereffects of his epiphany. Thomas clapped along with Daniel, who paused a couple of times to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand.

“You liked it, then?” Thomas asked merely to say something. His voice croaked but he hoped Daniel hadn’t noticed over the din. 

“It was wonderful. Didn’t you think so?”

“Yes, it was beautiful,” agreed Thomas, trying to distract himself by scouting the nearest cocktail tray.

He grabbed them each another drink from a passing footman when a young woman, the accompanist, approached to ask if they enjoyed the performance. Daniel seemed to have forgotten all about his shyness as he engaged her in further conversation, his expression animated as it always was when he spoke on a subject he was passionate about.

Thomas thought the petite brunette speaking with them seemed very sweet, her bright eyes not once straying from Daniel’s face. He wondered what Daniel thought of her and whether or not he found her attractive. The thought of it was painful, and he dearly wished it wasn’t. He should want his friend to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. 

Thomas was waiting for a break in the conversation to remove himself, feeling the need to go splash some water on his face, but before he could do so Philip appeared at his side.

“My apologies for interrupting, but I wondered if I might borrow you for a moment, Mr. Barrow? The clock in my study stopped working this morning and I would be grateful for your expertise.”

And there it was, the moment Thomas had been expecting and dreading since their arrival. He shot Daniel an apologetic look before following Philip inside and upstairs. He seemed to handle the stairs fine with support from the brace, which gave Thomas hope that he would not be back for medical care in the near future.

“Are you going to tell me why you invited me to your party, Philip? Don’t you think it’s a bit strange having me here?” asked Thomas, not caring a whit if he came across as curt. He walked to the middle of the study and grudgingly turned around to face Philip.

“Why should it be strange?” asked Philip, closing the door behind them. The clock on the shelf—as Thomas suspected, it was in perfect working order—served only to magnify the silence that filled the spaces in between its rhythmic ticks and tocks.

“For one, it’s strange that you asked the likes of me to come to your posh get together instead of Mrs. Greyling. Some people might think it improper to extend an invitation to Dr. Greyling and not his wife.”

“Yes, some people might, but I don’t particularly care,” said Philip. His nonchalance seemed obscene to Thomas when he felt anything but calm himself. “In my humble opinion, parties are meant to be fun. I think you’re aware that even if one did manage to persuade the Greylings to tolerate each other’s company long enough to attend a party together, they wouldn’t have fun nor would anyone else who had to endure their mutual distaste for one another. I rather thought the good doctor would enjoy himself more if he were with you.”

Thomas couldn’t discern what exactly Philip was insinuating with that last comment, and his uncertainty about it only irritated him further.

“That isn’t the only reason you invited me. God knows you don’t do anything for other people unless it serves your own ends. So, please, just bloody well get on with saying whatever it is you’ve been planning to say to me.”

“Ah, there’s the Thomas I remember. I thought he might be hiding somewhere under all that restrained politeness. As good as it is to see him, I do think he’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

Philip was actually regarding him with a teasing grin and Thomas felt an urge to shout at him and throw things, if only to rid him of that smarmy expression on his face. He was not, however, about to give Philip the satisfaction of provoking any sort of passionate reaction from him.

“I’m not that man anymore. I’ve changed, or tried to, at least.”

“So have I,” said Philip simply. “Perhaps not much, but enough to acknowledge that I do have some regrets in my life—the way I ended things with you being one of them.”

Philip might as well have sprouted a second head for as much as his admission surprised Thomas.

“Pardon?” was all Thomas managed to say. Why did his voice suddenly have to be so despicably weak?

“I was cruel to you that last night we were together at Downton, needlessly so, and for that I’m sorry,” said Philip, apparently sincere.

“You might have been cruel, but I wouldn’t say it was needless. I did threaten you with blackmail, after all,” said Thomas, venting his discomfort with the now habitual kneading of his wrists.

He must have pulled some scar tissue in his right wrist when he was bracing himself against the red-haired man’s headboard the other night, as it had been aching on and off all weekend. At the moment, he welcomed the pain because it was helping to ground him in the wake of Philip’s unexpected apology. 

“We both know you wouldn’t have gone through with it,” said Philip. “You were hurt and you lashed out. It was understandable, especially in light of your tenuous career prospects.”

“It’s true I wanted a better job, so I won’t lie and tell you otherwise. But I wanted you more,” said Thomas, emotion suddenly and unexpectedly surging forward. He couldn’t possibly feel any more humiliated than he did already, and so he plunged on. “I would have stayed with you always if you’d only asked.”

“I know. It’s why I threw you over,” said Philip, bluntly but with a look of apology. “I was so young then and impetuous. I didn’t want the responsibility of being tied to someone that way.”

His explanation confirmed Thomas’s long-held suspicions. Even so, it was a dash of salt in a never-healed wound, and so it still stung.

“It would seem that’s all changed for you,” said Thomas, walking over to look at a framed photograph of Philip with his wife and young son. “You’re a proper family man now.”

“It would seem that way, yes,” said Philip, picking up the photograph and gazing at it fondly. “Ruth and I are more akin to good friends and business partners than husband and wife, but it suits us. We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance at a New York society event and we hit it off quite nicely. By the following month, I was even braving Cleveland to meet her family and we announced our engagement shortly thereafter.”

“How does it work between you two, then?” asked Thomas. “Doesn’t she expect more than you’re willing to give her in regards to marital relations?”

“That’s the absolute beauty of it, Thomas. Our arrangement is more perfect than I’d ever dared hope for,” said Philip, leaning in towards Thomas with conspiratorial glee. “Ruth is the sapphic sort, you see, which means she’s no more attracted to me than I am to her. I get her money, she gets my title, and we both get to go off and fuck other people.”

Thomas let out a stunned laugh.

“Not only did you marry an heiress, you married one who doesn’t expect you to bed her. You truly are a lucky bastard, Philip,” said Thomas. “But, you have a son together so you must have…”

“Oh, yes, we did have to muddle our way through the act once, but thankfully Ruth fell pregnant on our first try.”

Thomas snorted. “I’d wager that’s a charming story. Tell me, was she accommodating enough to turn over on her stomach so you could perform?”

“She did, in fact, but I also had to oblige her by keeping my flat hairy chest off her back.”

They both laughed unrestrainedly and it was as if all the earlier tension had fled the room. It was a balm to laugh with Philip. What Thomas had always liked best in their relationship was the way they had been able to talk without filters and say the things they couldn’t say aloud to anyone else. It had been freeing and it was still freeing now.

When their laughter subsided, Philip was the first to speak.

“We waffled on the subject of children for some years before making our minds up. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of my toad of a cousin inheriting my title, which was the deciding factor for me. It transpires that fatherhood rather suits me. My Harold is a good lad and I’ve no doubt he’ll make me proud.”

“That was a hard pill for me to swallow, accepting that I wouldn’t have children,” said Thomas. Privately, he could admit that he hadn’t managed to swallow it at all.

“Ruth and I had some concerns about how he’d turn out, you know. With both of us being the way we are, we wondered whether we might pass it on, if such a thing is even possible. Thus far, though, he seems to be…”

“Normal?” supplied Thomas wryly.

Philip hummed in assent. “Whatever normal is, at any rate. What I mean to say is that he isn’t showing the same signs I was at that age, but you never know.”

“Well, it’s not something I would wish on him,” said Thomas with a bitter smile. His wrist felt sore beneath the pressure of his thumb. “Life’s hard enough.”

“Has it really made you so unhappy?” asked Philip, frowning.

Thomas paused for a moment to consider his next words, as it was something he had difficulty making clear in his head, let alone articulating aloud to someone else. “It’s not that I feel wrong or dirty for being attracted to other men. I wouldn’t even say that I feel abnormal, because the wanting feels as normal and natural as breathing to me, as I’m sure it does for you. It’s being apart from everyone else. Being alone and outside of it all.”

Philip was still frowning, and Thomas couldn’t tell if he had struck a sympathetic nerve.

“To tell you the truth, I was under the impression that you weren’t alone at all. I rather thought that you and Daniel might have a nice little domestic arrangement.”

Thomas barked out a laugh. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. We’re only friends and he’s not shown interest in me beyond that. He’s a married man besides.”

“Thomas, I’m a married man,” said Philip with the tone of someone stating the painfully obvious. “That didn’t stop me from having a bit of fun with the strapping young man who delivered my garden sculpture the other day.”

“I knew you didn’t hurt your sodding knee by slipping on the floor or whatever it was you said. You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“I can hardly tell my doctor that I injured myself because I got down on my knees to suck off the deliveryman,” said Philip, seeming gratified when he elicited a reluctant grin from Thomas. “In all seriousness, though, I’m not oblivious. I saw how you were looking at him today. I also saw how he was looking at you.”

“I thought you said you were done being cruel to me. If you were, you wouldn’t give me false hope. That nearly ruined me once and I’ll not let it happen again,” said Thomas, tone clipped.

“I’m not saying it to be cruel, it’s just how I see it. And you know that I’m almost never wrong about these things. Do give me some credit.”

They stared one another down for a time until Philip relented first, his forehead relaxing.

“Speaking of Daniel, I should probably return you to him. He’ll be wondering what’s keeping you,” said Philip, turning away from the photographs on his shelf. “Thank you for hearing me out. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

Philip stuck out his hand for Thomas to shake. It was friendly, but Thomas thought the gesture felt too hollow to possibly encapsulate what they had once been to each other. Philip must have felt the same, because after a hesitant pause, he brought their clasped hands upwards to kiss Thomas’s knuckles. His lips were just as warm and soft when they found Thomas’s own, the both of them sighing into the kiss. There was no heat in it, no promise of more; it was like reading the final sentence in an unfinished book so that they might finally close it for good.

“I did care for you, Thomas. Rather a lot, actually, although I didn’t necessarily show it,” said Philip. “I meant what I wrote in my letters.”

“I loved you, too,” said Thomas, looking at Philip knowingly. Having only ever written those words to each other, it felt good to finally say them aloud.

“Well, then,” said Philip, lowering Thomas’s hand before gently letting it go. He gestured towards the door and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Shall we?”

When they made it back outside to the party, Thomas spied Daniel standing in the same place he’d left him, still talking to the same brunette, but now with the addition of the violinist himself. Thomas grabbed another drink and hung back for a while longer, not wishing to interrupt. Daniel struck a fine form indeed in his tan suit, his pale blue tie making his eyes sparkle. The woman laughed at something Daniel said and coyly laid a hand on his arm.

Eventually, Daniel looked over and caught his eye. Thomas watched as he excused himself and said his goodbyes before coming over to meet him. The brunette gave his retreating form a look of suggestive longing.

“Are you ready to go?” asked Daniel. The warm air had brought a touch of pink to his cheeks that Thomas thought looked very fetching on him.

“We could stay longer,” said Thomas, looking back at the young woman as the two of them made their way over to thank their hosts, “if you were having a nice time. I’m in no rush.”

“I think I’ve had enough for today,” said Daniel. “I did enjoy myself more than I thought I would, though, especially meeting Mr. Kreisler.”

The duchess was friendlier with Thomas as they took their leave. He wondered just how much Philip had told her of him.

“Don’t be strangers,” said Philip, shaking their hands and giving Thomas a meaningful look, as if he truly meant for Thomas to take what he said to heart. They couldn’t be lovers again, but Thomas found himself thinking that he would not mind at all having Philip as a friend.

Once he and Daniel had walked a couple of blocks, Thomas couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “What was the name of that woman you were talking to? I’ve already forgotten.”

“Lillian. She’s very intelligent and it was interesting to hear about her career. She’s a professional concert pianist, and a talented one at that,” said Daniel. He sounded admiring but didn’t indicate what his more personal feelings for her might have been. He wished it wasn’t so hard to get Daniel to open up.

“She’s pretty, too,” said Thomas, prodding a little harder. “She seemed very sweet on you.”

“I did pick up on that,” Daniel laughed, blushing and scratching at the back of his neck. “Either she didn’t see my wedding ring, or she was ignoring it.”

“You could ignore it, too, you know,” said Thomas, aware that he was treading a fine line. “If you wanted to. It wouldn’t be a betrayal.”

“Wouldn’t it, though?” said Daniel. He didn’t sound irritated exactly, but there was unease in his tone.

“You know your wife wouldn’t mind. You might not get along, but she doesn’t want you to be miserable. She’s trying to find some happiness and I think she wants the same for you,” said Thomas.

“It’s not that I mind her carrying on with that Spaniard, because I don’t,” Daniel sighed wearily, “but one of us needs to put our children first, and it was never going to be her.”

Thomas didn’t for a second doubt the extent of Daniel’s devotion to his daughter and son, but he couldn’t help but wonder if they had become an excuse as opposed to a legitimate reason. Daniel was many things, but a risk taker was not one of them.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve brought it up,” said Thomas sheepishly. “Listen, it’s still early. We could go to the tennis courts if you fancy a match or two?”

Daniel laughed. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I haven’t managed to beat you once the last three times we’ve played.”

“Then maybe you ought to try to win some of your dignity back?”

“You’re on, Barrow.”

***

They arrived home a little after eight o’clock. 

Daniel had managed to best Thomas in one out of two hard-fought matches that afternoon. Their playing had been slightly more aggressive than usual and Thomas felt a deep soreness settle in his wrists and hand once they finished. Although he played mainly with his right, he favored a two-handed backhand; when he hit the ball hard enough, the reverberations from the impact rattled into every nook and cranny of his twisted appendage. 

Despite the pain, Thomas felt the exercise had helped immensely in channeling his rioting emotions and afterwards they had both been in good spirits over pies and pints at a nearby pub. They had grown quiet on their walk home, both tired from a long day, and Thomas’s thoughts strayed again to Philip and their reconciliation. Daniel seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, although he did look to Thomas every now and then as if he wanted to say something but never quite managed to get it out.

As Daniel went upstairs to help Glenys put the children to bed, Thomas retreated to his apartment where he flopped down on the couch and attempted to continue on with a mystery novel Glenys had leant him. The day had given him so much to mull over, however, that the book failed to hold his attention no matter how many times he tried to make himself focus. After an hour or so, he was just about to get up and go out to the garden for a smoke when he heard a knock at his door. He hurriedly pulled down the long sleeves of his cotton undershirt and slipped his glove back on before answering it.

It was Daniel.

“Thomas, there was something I wanted to speak to you about. Is this a bad time?” he asked, almost as if he hoped it were. 

“Not at all. What is it? Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing’s the matter. It’s just… would you mind coming upstairs with me to my office?”

Daniel’s cagey demeanor was making Thomas nervous, but he followed him upstairs without question nevertheless. When they entered Daniel’s consulting room, Thomas saw that the door to the exam room was open and the lights were on. Bewilderingly, he thought he could hear running water inside and he asked Daniel about it.

“I’ve had this local whirlpool bath sitting in the storage room downstairs,” Daniel explained. “It’s used for hydrotherapy, this one specifically for hand and arm injuries. I thought it might make you feel better.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but I couldn’t, really,” said Thomas, panic shooting through him so sharply he felt lightheaded. “I told you, it doesn’t trouble me anymore.”

“With a wound of that kind, I’ll admit it’s remarkable that your hand functions as well as it does, yet you obviously have a lot of stiffness in it. I could see you were in a lot of pain after playing tennis today, too. I wanted to respect your boundaries, but it’s hard to watch you suffer and not do anything to help. Would you mind if I at least took a look at it?”

“Please don’t ask me to show you,” Thomas begged in a half whisper, alarmed to feel tears pricking at his eyes. His hand was revolting enough, but if Daniel saw the other scars, he hated to consider what his reaction might be. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone?

“I wish you wouldn’t feel ashamed, not in front of me. I saw so many men come through the hospital during the war with what I could tell were intentionally obtained wounds, but I never judged any of them for it. By all accounts, those trenches were a never-ending hellscape and you were in them for two years,” said Daniel with a quiet conviction. “You’re so brave, Thomas. Don’t ever think doing what you did makes you a coward.” 

A couple tears managed to slip free at that point and Thomas cursed himself for it. He realized that Daniel wasn’t going to let the issue drop. It was only a matter of time before he found out anyway, and wasn’t it better, really, that it came out now? Surely, it would be much more difficult if he found out as long as a year down the line. How could Thomas leave then, if it came to it, when he would be far more attached than he already was to this house, this family, this man? And to hear Daniel call him brave again; it was almost more than he could bear.

But that was not an illusion Daniel would hold for much longer.

“You’re right, I do feel ashamed of it sometimes, but that’s not the full extent of it,” said Thomas. “There’s something else I’ve been hiding from you.”

Daniel just looked at him, puzzled, and Thomas steeled himself for what he was about to do. He stripped off his glove and approached Daniel cautiously with his hand out.

“You’ll see that the tissue damage from the bullet hole extends past my hand, and I knew if I allowed you to look at it, you would pull up my sleeve to see the rest.”

Thomas’s hand was shaking as Daniel gingerly took it in both of his. He looked to Thomas, brow furrowed with his silent question and his fingers already hovering at the hem of the sleeve. All Thomas could do was nod, throat tight from fear.

He looked away as cool air hit the exposed skin of his wrist, and so he heard rather than saw Daniel’s reaction, a quiet but sharp intake of breath. 

“Oh, Thomas.” Daniel didn’t sound disgusted, but pity was considerably harder for Thomas to stomach.

More tears spilled and Thomas still couldn’t bring himself to look. He flinched when Daniel ran his thumb over the two horizontal raised scars across his wrist. While still keeping hold of Thomas’s left hand, Daniel then reached for the other and pushed that sleeve back as well. Thomas knew he was now looking upon another set of long scars, more jagged than the others from having made them with his crippled non-dominant hand.

“I’ve noticed you rubbing your wrists, but I assumed it was a nervous tic or something. I never thought…” Daniel trailed off. He saw Daniel shake his head out of the corner of his eye. “Will you come through with me now? Please.”

Thomas nodded again and let himself be steered into the too-brightly-lit exam room by Daniel, whose hand was firm upon his back. When they entered, Thomas observed a curious contraption sitting on a low table. It resembled a small bathtub and there was steam rising from the gurgling water within, which appeared to be fed through a tubing system.

Once Thomas was sitting, Daniel held his arm out to roll the sleeve up past his elbow before lowering it into the tub. It was a curious but pleasant sensation, the hot water churning from jets that sent tiny air bubbles skittering over his skin. If he wasn’t currently so uneasy about having his secret out in the open, he might have found it relaxing.

“I tried not to make the water too hot since it’s your first time using the bath. Ideally, if it was just the old scarring on your hand I would have you soak it for at least twenty minutes,” said Daniel. His tone was almost like the one he adopted with his patients, but there was enough of a quaver in it to reveal that he was upset. “However, I’m not sure how the newer scars on your wrists will react, and I’m afraid if those are left in for too long it could make the tissue overly soft and cause more damage when I go to work on it. This time, I think about fifteen minutes for each arm will have to suffice.”

Instead of leaving the room, Daniel pulled a stool up to sit facing Thomas. He leaned over so that his elbows were resting on his knees and his hands were clasped loosely in front of him. They didn’t look at each other for a while, nor did they speak. Thomas felt so wrung out that the sound of the water and the clock ticking on the wall might have put him to sleep. Then, after what must have been fifteen minutes, Daniel broke the silence.

“Alright, I’m going to have you switch to your right hand now,” said Daniel.

After awkwardly rearranging himself to submerge his other hand, Daniel used a towel to pat down Thomas’s left arm. Thomas was about to lower it back into his lap once it was dry, but it seemed that Daniel had other ideas.

“What are you doing?” asked Thomas, his hand jerking reflexively in Daniel’s grasp.

“I’m going to massage your scar tissue,” said Daniel, low and soft as though he were speaking to a flighty animal. “The heat from the bath gets your blood circulating, so you’ll be in less pain and your hand will be more pliable for manual manipulation. It will help you to feel better, but I don’t have to right now if you’d rather I didn’t.”

Internally, it made Thomas feel like a nervous wreck to have Daniel’s hands on him like this, but he told Daniel to proceed anyways.

“The bullet wound is, what, about a decade old now? I’m not sure how successful I’ll be in breaking down adhesions at this point, but I still think massage will gain you some more mobility. You also have a slight contracture deformity in your ring and little fingers, which we should be able to reverse if we’re patient and keep at it.”

Daniel said all of this while applying a steady, firm pressure to Thomas’s palm with insistent thumbs, his movements rhythmic and measured. The patterns his fingers danced into Thomas’s flesh made it tingle and grow warm, bringing sensation back in a way he didn’t usually feel on his best days. 

All the other times someone had tended to these injuries, it had been clinical, professional. With Daniel it felt terribly intimate. Thomas struggled to remember a time, if there had been one at all, when someone had touched him with so much care. He jolted a little when Daniel started massaging his wrist.

“You don’t have to tell me why, and I won’t ask,” said Daniel, sounding as if he were swallowing around a lump in his throat. “But whatever it was you were going through when you did this, I hate to think of you being in that much pain.”

“Looking back, things weren’t as bleak as I thought they were. Nothing worth your pity.”

Daniel looked hard at Thomas, in a way that compelled Thomas to lift his head and look back. Daniel carefully moved his thumb so that it was resting directly over the crater left behind from the German bullet.

“A man who takes such an enormous risk to survive,” said Daniel, running his thumb from the bullet wound down to the razor lines in his wrist, “has to be in a substantial amount of pain to do something like this.”

“It’s all so bloody exhausting, though, isn’t it? Surviving? I feel like all I’ve ever done with my life is just try to survive,” said Thomas. “I can tell you, surviving’s not the same as living.”

Daniel didn’t respond as he rubbed some final soothing circles into his hand and wrist before starting on his right.

“Remember when you asked me why the pub was called The Wounded Badger?” asked Thomas. Daniel nodded. “I thought to ask Mrs. Chester for the story, before I left.”

“Tell me?” asked Daniel, dexterous fingers sending jolts all along Thomas’s arm.

“There isn’t a lot to it, really, and not as much embellishment as you usually get with those old tales,” said Thomas. “So, Mrs. Chester’s great-great—however many greats it was—grandfather lived in the country as a boy. He was out walking one day and he came across this badger with an injured paw. The badger growled at him and put up a fight, but the boy somehow managed to get it home, intending to nurse it back to health. Before long, the badger’s paw healed and it warmed up to the boy, too. Let the boy pet it and feed it, like it was a regular house cat, tame as can be. Until one day it wasn’t. Until one day, out of nowhere, the boy went to feed it and the badger took a swipe at him. Apparently left some gashes along his jaw that scarred something awful. That was when he knew he had to send the badger away, back into the wild. He still saw it from time to time, hanging ‘round the house. He knew it was lonely, but he couldn’t let it back in. Couldn’t trust it.”

“What did you think of that story, after she told it to you?” asked Daniel, searchingly. The movements of his fingers were hypnotic.

“That there’s no changing a badger’s stripes, is there? Sometimes kindness begets kindness, but ultimately, there’s no altering the basic nature of things. Some things are just wild, and no amount of care in the world can change that.”

“You’re not an animal, Thomas,” said Daniel. “You’re every bit as human as anyone else.”

“But sometimes, I don’t feel like I am,” said Thomas, trying to stifle the sob that was threatening to break through. “I think there’s something in me that’s wrong. Something dark and ugly. It didn’t matter what I did, how hard I tried to be decent, they could still see it. If I were them, I wouldn’t trust me either.” 

“I trust you,” said Daniel, in that plain and simple way of his. Coming from most people, such a statement would have sounded naive at best, but coming from Daniel it just sounded true.

And all Thomas knew for a few unsullied moments was Daniel’s kind smile. He wanted to say something back, to thank him, but the words were caught in his throat.

Before he could manage to get something out, quick footsteps sounded from outside the door.

“Daniel, are you in there? I had a question to ask you,” came Effie’s approaching voice. Whatever the question was, it died when she opened the door.

Thankfully, Daniel reacted quickly enough to turn Thomas’s wrist downward so Effie couldn’t see the scars. 

“I would really appreciate it if you knocked before coming in here,” said Daniel. His grip on Thomas’s arm felt suddenly tense.

“I’m sorry. It’s so late, I didn’t think anything of it. Are you quite alright, Mr. Barrow?” she asked, looking to Thomas awkwardly. 

“Fine, thanks,” said Thomas, forcing a small smile.

“Thomas’s old war injuries were acting up. There’s no cause for alarm,” said Daniel.

“Oh, alright. I do hope you’re on the mend soon, Mr. Barrow,” said Effie. She seemed not to know what to do with her hands and she was staring at the two of them with a most peculiar look in her eyes. “I’ll take my leave, then. Sorry for the intrusion.”

When she left, Daniel gently released Thomas’s arm.

“We were basically finished anyway,” said Daniel, standing up and smoothing his hands along his trouser legs. “How do you feel now?”

“Quite good, actually,” said Thomas, flexing his left hand experimentally. His movements were smoother and less constrained and his wrists even felt looser. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Daniel turned away from Thomas, beginning to switch off the bath.

“Daniel,” said Thomas.

“Yes?” He turned back to Thomas.

“After what happened to your friend this year, I wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about me. I still feel low sometimes, but I don’t feel hopeless anymore. I like being here, with you and your family. It feels like this is how life is supposed to be, you know?” said Thomas.

He tried to suppress the niggling voice in his head that said it would all be ripped from him eventually. Perhaps not as soon as he thought, but the day would come surely enough.

“I’m glad. We like having you here, too. Truly.”

“Thank you, again, for everything,” said Thomas. He pointed his gaze to the floor because looking at Daniel was suddenly overwhelming. “I think I’m going to turn in now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Thomas.”

Thomas didn’t close the door all the way, cracking it just enough to leave a shining sliver of that too-bright light behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks SO much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :)
> 
> I know this is a real slow burn, but certain *developments* may be coming sooner than you think...


	9. Chapter 9

“Tell me you didn’t stand for it,” said Thomas. He put his newspaper down to frown at Glenys.

“‘Course I didn’t stand for it. I took his cuppa and splashed it right in his face,” said Glenys, smiling slyly.

“Good on you. Was the tea still very hot?” asked Thomas. 

“It was barely lukewarm, but that didn’t stop him from whinging about how I scalded him. I’ll tell you, his blood was the only thing that was steaming,” she said, waving a paring knife around a little too exuberantly for Thomas’s liking. “So then, what does my sister do? She shouts at me to get out of her house like it was my fault her husband—right in front of her, I might add—was commenting on my ‘shapely hindquarters’ like I’m some kind of show pony. I always said she needed her head examined.”

“Why do you keep going over there, if they treat you like that?”

“They’re my only family here. It’s no more than a couple of times a month, anyway, and the rest of the time I live with two perfect gentlemen,” said Glenys. She looked over her shoulder at Liam, who was sitting on a blanket in the corner of the kitchen, contentedly drawing while Plato snoozed beside him. “I suppose I should say three perfect gentlemen, although that one has been very handsy with me lately.”

“I don’t think ‘perfect gentleman’ is the most accurate descriptor for me,” said Thomas incredulously. 

“And why not? You’re always very chivalrous towards me. I don’t think I’ve seen you so much as look at a woman impolitely.”

Thomas resisted the urge to snort. In any case he was glad she thought better of him now after her previous coolness in the face of his rejection.

The mood of easy camaraderie didn’t last long, however, because Hattie came barreling into the kitchen in tears, her curly hair wild and face blotchy.

“My darling girl,” Glenys cooed, dropping her knife and bringing her hands to Hattie’s shaking shoulders. “Whatever’s the matter?”

“Mum and dad are fighting again,” Hattie hiccuped. “It’s bad this time.”

“For heaven’s sake,” said Glenys, bringing the sobbing girl to her chest.

Something in Effie had snapped at last. This must have been the third row she’d instigated with her husband within the past fortnight, and that wasn’t counting the frequent barbs she shot at Daniel every time they were in the same room. It was all following on the heels of her confession to Thomas in the garden over a month ago, as if all her unhappiness had finally bubbled up until there was no more keeping the lid on that pot. And then there was Daniel, who was essentially doing the equivalent of standing by and watching it boil over.

Glenys busied herself making tea, so Thomas led Hattie over to sit at the kitchen table. Liam, so unusually quiet for a child his age, simply looked on curiously at his sister with his large brown eyes.

“What’s it about this time? Can you tell me?” asked Thomas.

“I’m starting secondary school next year. I was supposed to go to St. Mary’s in Ascot, because that’s where mum went and she and Grandmama want me to go there, too. Except now, dad’s saying he doesn’t want me at a Catholic school anymore. He wants me to go to Queen’s College instead. Mum got really angry when he told her, and then dad got angry back. I’ve never heard him shout like that,” said Hattie, watery eyes awestruck.

Thomas had to admit he was taken aback by this news as well. Daniel was not the type to allow his temper to get out of hand and he didn’t shout. 

“Queen’s College,” repeated Thomas. “That’s the one down the street, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Dad said if I went there I could live at home. If I went to St. Mary’s I’d board there and I’d only come home during holidays and weekends sometimes.”

Glenys came over with the tea then, pouring out a cup for each of them and dosing Hattie’s with a heaping spoonful of sugar. Thomas hadn’t really wanted tea himself, but he added a splash of milk and took a sip nonetheless.

“If your father wants to keep you here, it’s not only your mum he’s got to worry about,” said Glenys. “I imagine your grandparents would put up a fight as well.”

“I don’t see what the fuss is about. She can stay in London and still attend Mass with them on the weekends,” reasoned Thomas. “If her father doesn’t want her under the constant supervision of nuns, then that’s his prerogative. Can’t say I blame him, either.”

Glenys frowned at him for his forward comments, believing it was not his place to have opinions on private family matters. However, he found he didn’t feel the least bit chagrined for speaking his mind. In a way, it reminded him of the way he used to be, back before the therapy. Before the razor.

Perhaps his teeth were still sharper than he realized.

“I never wanted to go to St. Mary’s. I don’t like to think about leaving here,” said Hattie. “Does that make me a coward?”

“No, it doesn’t. You have a wonderful home and a family who loves you. Who in their right mind would want to leave that?” said Thomas, wheedling a reluctant smile from her.

With Hattie calmer, Thomas decided to leave the rest of the cheering up to Glenys and took himself out to the garden for a smoke. Before he could even light up, however, he realized this was not going to be the quiet place of solitude he had hoped for. The second-floor window to the drawing room was ajar, and raised voices reached his ears quite clearly where he stood beneath it.

“…have a say in her upbringing and share something with her that’s important to me,” came Effie’s voice, bright and tense.

“Do you even hear yourself? You and your parents have had more say in her upbringing than I ever did. Besides, you’re never around to share anything with your daughter now and it’ll be a hell of a lot more difficult once she’s away at boarding school.”

“You know how she is, Daniel. She wants to be just like her daddy. I only wanted her to follow in my footsteps for once, but you can’t even support me in that! You might not want anything to do with the Church anymore, but you don’t have to turn Hattie away from her faith. St. Mary’s is an excellent institution and it’ll teach her some sorely-needed discipline besides.”

“Because clearly all that Catholic discipline turned you into a paragon of virtue.”

The acid in Daniel’s tone sent a shiver down Thomas’s spine.

“That was low, Daniel,” said Effie, “Especially for you.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, that was a terrible thing to say,” said Daniel, sounding abashed.

“That’s what you think of me, though, isn’t it?” asked Effie. Her voice was rising again. “That I’m a loose woman whom you righteously tolerate as if you’re the bloody saint in this marriage.”

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth, because that’s not how I see you. All the other men you’ve been with over the past decade—I never spoke a word against you seeing them.”

“Did it occur to you that I wanted you to say something? At least that would have shown me that you cared, that you wanted me. Even condemnation would have been preferable to your indifference.”

Her remark was met with silence and Thomas told himself that it was a good time for him to slink back inside. He knew he shouldn’t be listening in on them, but he also realized he was too invested, too intrigued to peel himself away now. Old habits died hard.

“Effie,” Daniel finally said, sighing out the words like he was exhausted beyond measure. “I’m not going to condemn you for needing something I can’t give you.”

Their voices had grown softer now, but Thomas could still make out the words if he strained his ears and held his breath. Effie spoke next.

“I used to think there was something wrong with me, and that was why you couldn’t love me. But it’s the other way around, isn’t it? That a healthy man in the prime of his life can be so devoid of desire is a mystery to me. It isn’t normal, Daniel, and I pity you for it.”

“Get out.”

The words were barely audible.

“I said, get out!” 

Daniel practically bellowed this time and his vehemence had Thomas pressing his back to the brick wall, involuntarily trying to shrink away from the sound. 

Feeling sick in the pit of his stomach, Thomas stubbed out his cigarette and made for the door, but he was not quick enough. He cursed himself for stalling, because he then heard a heartbreaking whine cut through the air, followed by a heaving, miserable sob.

Thomas didn’t see Daniel for the rest of the night.

***

Daniel acted pleasantly enough the following morning, but he looked worn out, as if he hadn’t slept well. Thomas didn’t comment on it at first and tried his best to behave normally, although he felt overly self-conscious with every move he made and each word he spoke. Thankfully, Daniel was too tired to notice.

Thomas didn’t know how Daniel was going to manage when he looked dead on his feet, as they had an exceptionally full patient schedule at the Harley Street practice that morning with the afternoon reserved for the outpatient clinic at the Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital. Daniel looked even worse once they made it to lunch time, so Thomas suggested he stay home and get some rest. His friend wouldn’t hear of it, claiming that the hospital was overburdened as it was and they couldn’t afford to be short a physician. Thomas bit his tongue, but he knew that had their roles been reversed, Daniel would have insisted that Thomas stay home and take care of himself. He wondered if all doctors were so bloody-minded.

Thomas very seldom joined Daniel at the hospital, and so during these afternoons he stayed behind to catch up on other duties. Today, he was on his hands and knees in the storage room, wrestling with his thoughts as well as the wobbly footrest on a wheelchair he was to deliver that afternoon.

The argument he’d overheard between Daniel and Effie had revealed enough to make Thomas’s mind churn. He kept telling himself that he was delusional and guilty of wishful thinking, but the implications of what Effie had said about Daniel and his visceral reaction to it… Did he truly not experience sexual desire or did he simply not desire the right sort of people? Did Thomas dare to suppose that Daniel might be like him after all? It was such a dangerous train of thought, but now that he was riding it, he was finding it increasingly difficult to hop off.

He finished tightening the last screw as far as it would go, but the footrest still rattled about. He slammed his fist onto the seat of the chair in frustration.

“God damn piece of…”

“You ought not to take the Lord’s name in vain, Mr. Barrow.”

Effie stood in the doorway, aloof and imperious as ever. Thomas was so irritated by his current task that it was all he could do not to snap out some acidic retort. It rather rubbed him the wrong way that, of all things, she would draw the line at such a mild form of blasphemy; but then, how other people prioritized their morals rarely made sense to him.

“Can I help you with something, Mrs. Greyling?” Thomas answered with his most politely servile voice, albeit through gritted teeth.

“I was looking for my large traveling valise—burgundy leather with brass clasps. You haven’t seen it down here, have you?”

“Sorry, can’t say that I have,” said Thomas. When she continued to linger in the doorway, he asked, “Are you going on holiday somewhere?”

“Yes, I am,” she replied, not offering any further explanation. “I’ve noticed Daniel isn’t at home. Do you happen to know where he is or when he might be coming back?”

“It’s Thursday,” said Thomas, by way of explanation. She stared at him blankly and he realized he should have known better by now that she would not be familiar with her husband’s weekly schedule. “He’ll be at the RNOH clinic until six o’clock, possibly later if they get many workers dropping in after their shifts end.”

“I see,” she said, apparently satisfied by this news. As if she just couldn’t help herself, she added, “I don’t know why we bother quarreling over Hattie’s education, because if Daniel keeps giving away his services practically for free, we won’t be able to afford to send her anywhere.”

It was true that as a consultant at the hospital, Daniel made next to nothing for his work there; in fact, all the hospital physicians had to rely on an outside private practice. This was, he learned, a sore spot with Effie, who was already resentful that her marriage prevented her from living the aristocratic lifestyle in which she’d been raised. Yet, Thomas could hardly sympathize with her, as Daniel’s practice was amply lucrative by most people’s standards.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Mrs. Greyling. I think you’ve got at least a few good years before you’re all carted off to the work house.”

“Hm,” was her only response, her features pinched. She seemed distracted. “I suppose I’ll have to check the attic for my suitcase.”

“Would you like me to help you look for it?” offered Thomas, feeling a little sorry for his sarcasm.

“No, that’s quite alright, Mr. Barrow,” she said, a funny look coming over her face. “I appreciate what a good friend you’ve been to my husband. I want you to know that. It gives me comfort that he has someone he can rely on.”

Before Thomas could even respond with a “you’re welcome” or anything of the sort, she had already disappeared.

Thomas didn’t give her odd behavior much thought for the rest of the afternoon, too preoccupied with thoughts of Daniel as he scrambled to finish his duties. He wasn’t able to make it over to Mrs. Langerman’s flat until half four with the wheelchair and she was so stubborn that it took him over an hour to cajole her into trying it; Daniel was firm that she begin using one, seeing as she was in no condition to be walking anymore. The old woman pushed his patience to its limits, but at least she had the courtesy to ply him with enough lemon cake so as to put him off his dinner.

He finally returned to Harley Street just before seven o’clock. First he stopped off at his desk to write Mrs. Langerman’s next appointment into the schedule and then started towards the staircase, thinking of having a quick wash-up. As he passed by Daniel’s office, however, he noticed the light was on and the door ajar. He was thankful Daniel had been able to return home at a reasonable time.

Thomas knocked lightly before nudging the door open the rest of the way. Daniel was hunched over his desk, cradling his head in his hands. As Thomas had filed away all the papers from the desk earlier that afternoon, it was entirely cleared off except for one sheet of paper and a crumpled envelope. Daniel didn’t look up when Thomas guardedly entered the room.

“Is everything alright?”

It took such a long time for Daniel to respond that Thomas felt his chest begin to tighten with worry.

“She’s left me.”

Thomas’s stomach sank further to hear his friend’s inflectionless tone.

“What?” asked Thomas, although he already understood.

“Effie’s gone,” said Daniel, weakly brandishing the piece of stationary at Thomas. “She’s going to Spain to be with Javier. She’s not sure when she’s coming back to England, but when she does, she says she won’t be living here anymore.”

Thomas listened to the clock ticking over the mantle. The timing of it sounded off, somehow, and he thought dumbly that he ought to give it a tune up soon.

“If I’m being honest, I half-expected this to happen once she started seeing him again. I suppose I should be grateful that they didn’t take Liam with them. Not that Javier ever showed a paternal interest before, but I still fret.”

It was the closest Daniel had ever come to admitting that Liam wasn’t biologically his, and it was this more than anything that made Thomas’s heart ache for his friend. He wanted to offer comfort, but something about Daniel’s demeanor kept Thomas from going to his side. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” asked Thomas.

“Please tell Glen that I’m not feeling well and won’t be at dinner. I’d like to keep this between us for now. I need some time to myself to figure out what to tell my children.”

“You didn’t eat last night, either,” Thomas pointed out, feeling foolish for sounding like a mother hen.

“Have Glen send up a plate if it makes you feel better,” said Daniel, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, “but I can’t promise I’ll eat.”

Thomas could tell when he was being dismissed. Going against his better judgment as well as his more primal intuitions, he left his friend to nurse his despair alone. 

***

Thomas expected Daniel’s spirits would revive once he was given time to get over the shock of his wife leaving. The bond of their marriage, after all, had only ever been tenuous at best and the constant clashing of wills must have been tiring. If anything, he thought Daniel would feel relieved to have the biggest source of strife and stress in his life removed from it.

This was why Thomas was surprised when Daniel’s wellbeing only seemed to deteriorate. 

Two weeks on from Effie’s departure, Thomas returned to Harley Street to find Daniel in his consulting room, slumped in an armchair and swilling a glass of scotch that was definitely not his first of the evening. He couldn’t quite focus his gaze on Thomas’s face, even though he sat down only a couple of feet away. Thomas judged him well on his way to soused if he wasn’t there already.

“How was the clinic?” asked Thomas neutrally.

“They sent me home early. I was told I didn’t look well enough to be there,” said Daniel. He took a gulp of his whiskey.

“I’m afraid I’d have to agree,” said Thomas. “While you were out, I took the liberty of canceling all your appointments tomorrow. Monday’s as well.”

Daniel owlishly blinked his bloodshot eyes at Thomas. “You went behind my back to turn my patients away? Why would you do that?”

“You’re in no ruddy state to be taking care of anyone when you can’t even take care of yourself,” said Thomas, surprising himself with his ardor.

“You didn’t have the right to make that call for me. Just like Glenys didn’t have the right to send my kids away.” 

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right call to make. Your patients can sense that something’s wrong and they’ve said as much to me. You need to sort yourself out before you can get back to work, because I can’t keep making your excuses. And as for your kids,” said Thomas, softening his voice, “they shouldn’t have to see their dad trying to drink his sorrows away. That’s not fair on them.”

Daniel was plainly angry with him, and Thomas thought he might even shout at him to leave. Instead, he lowered his head and began to cry.

“Alright, I think you’ve had enough,” said Thomas, leaning forward to take the glass out of his friend’s grasp. With Daniel hiding his reddened face behind his hands, Thomas furtively finished the last swallow to fortify himself. He sat patiently while Daniel calmed himself.

“I keep thinking that I should have given in and agreed to send Hattie to St. Mary’s. Effie might have stayed if I had,” said Daniel, hiccuping once. “It was important to her, but I was against it because Catholic school was where I learned to hate myself. I didn’t want that for Hattie.”

“You did what you thought was best,” said Thomas, uttering a platitude when all he wanted to do was scream. That Daniel had ever hated himself—might still hate himself—was abominable to Thomas. “It’s no use now wondering what you could’ve done different. It wasn’t any one thing that made her leave, just like it wasn’t any one thing that could’ve made her stay. You can’t force what isn’t meant to be.”

“You must think I’m insane,” said Daniel, lips twitching into a bitter grin that looked more like a grimace. “You can’t understand why I’m upset that my wife is gone when we barely tolerated one another.”

“No, I don’t understand,” admitted Thomas.

“She was right about me. I knew all along how desperately unhappy she was, but I didn’t care. Not as long as she was there for me to hide behind.”

“Why would you want to hide?”

“Never mind,” said Daniel, sniffing and shaking his head. “Let’s just say it’s better for everyone that I do.”

“Not if it hurts you,” said Thomas. 

He couldn’t stand much more of this. It pained him, physically even, to see his friend so miserable. He wanted to get to the bottom of it all, to push Daniel to finally open up to him, but he knew it wouldn’t be right to coax the truth out when he was drunk. Thomas settled for optimism.

“Everything’s going to be fine. I’m going to help you stay off the booze for the next few days and make sure you get some square meals in you. Then, if you’re good and ready, we can go and fetch your kids from the in-laws. Does that sound like something you can manage?”

Daniel nodded at him once, looking sleepy and morose. Deciding that it was time for Daniel to go and sleep it off, Thomas got up so he could haul him to his feet. Daniel swayed dangerously, more inebriated than initially assessed, so Thomas caught him around his waist and swung Daniel’s arm over his shoulders. Climbing the stairs to Daniel’s bedroom was awkward to say the least; Thomas had to pull Daniel in tightly to keep him from falling and found himself overly sensitive to the warm, pliant feel of Daniel’s body and the scent of his soap mixed with the scotch on his breath. 

Thomas hadn’t had much occasion to see the inside of Daniel’s bedroom, and so he surveyed the space after carefully sitting Daniel down on the bed. Thomas deemed it an apt reflection of the man to whom it belonged—masculine yet understated with very few personal effects on display and anything more revealing concealed within the drawers of dark hardwood furniture.

He poured out a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and handed it to Daniel, waiting to make sure he drank it all down. If he had any common sense, Thomas would have left then and there, but Daniel looked so pitifully helpless, he decided he ought to at least divest him of his jacket and shoes.

After hanging the jacket back up in the wardrobe, he returned to kneel at Daniel’s feet. He set to work on the laces, pointedly looking anywhere but at Daniel’s face. This was easier said than done when Thomas decided to also help Daniel out of his waistcoat and tie. After all, it wouldn’t do for Daniel to choke on the offending garments in his sleep, all because Thomas couldn’t handle seeing a hint of his bare skin. 

It was when Thomas began undoing the top few buttons on Daniel’s shirt that he felt shaking fingers ghost along his jawline before stroking errant strands of hair away from his face. Although interminably long seconds passed, Daniel still did not bring his hand away. The soothing, steady pressure of Daniel’s fingers compelled Thomas to finally look up into his face, and there was no mistaking the blatant desire, even lust, that was staring back at him.

Thomas wasn’t deluded. He wasn’t dreaming. His feelings were not unrequited. Daniel’s hand was still in his hair.

In his urgency to end their contact, Thomas leapt to his feet so quickly he nearly knocked Daniel backwards.

“I’ll leave you to get some sleep, then. Goodnight,” said Thomas before rushing out of the room.

***

After a fitful sleep, Thomas woke early and tried to expel his anxiety through his morning calisthenics (Daniel had insisted he begin an exercise regimen—“Trust me, you’ll have so much more energy. Now if I could only get you to kick the cigarettes…”) and a hot shower. Nonetheless, they did not prove sufficient in taming his nerves.

Daniel felt something for Thomas that went beyond friendship. This wasn’t like it had been with Jimmy, and he knew it this time, had seen it clear as day. But should he do something about it? 

“Is Daniel up yet?” Thomas asked Glenys as he came into the kitchen.

“Good morning to you, too,” said Glenys. “No, he’s still abed. Did he get blotto again last night?”

“I’m afraid so,” replied Thomas, “but he’s promised to get himself in order so his kids can come back next week.”

“Good, I hope he follows through.”

Glenys looked wary of the news, but her father had died a depressive alcoholic, so he couldn’t blame her for being skeptical.

“Since Daniel isn’t well right now, I canceled today’s appointments. I’ll go barmy if I don’t have something to do, so I thought I’d run your errands. Is there anything you need from the shops?”

“Hold your horses, I’ve got to write a list first. Sit down and have a cuppa.”

Thomas drank his tea as fast as he dared while silently urging Glenys to hurry up. He wanted to get out of the house so he could get his head on straight before he spoke with Daniel.

“Thank you,” said Glenys, handing him the list. “Don’t be too long, I’ll need that bread for luncheon. Oh, and take Plato with you. He’s been under my feet all morning driving me mad.”

Thomas completed the shopping quickly, but rather than return right away, he took a detour towards the park. He sat down in the same spot where he and Daniel had first fed the ducks together; he’d looked a vision to Thomas that day, relaxed and golden in the sunlight. He tore up the extra loaf of stale bread he’d purchased and threw the scraps into the pond, watching as the waterfowl snapped greedily at the floating morsels. Plato was quivering in his eagerness to chase after them, but Thomas knew better than to relax his grip on the dog’s leash. By the time the last of the bread had been consumed, Thomas knew what he needed to do. 

That didn’t mean he was in any rush to do it, however. Thomas was so successful in evading Daniel at home that afternoon, he had to wonder if Daniel was also staying out of his way. Alas, they eventually ran into each other in the consulting room when Daniel walked in on Thomas returning some borrowed books to the top shelves.

“Daniel, I…” said Thomas, already becoming flustered as he climbed down from the ladder.

“Wait,” said Daniel, “we’ve been dancing around each other all day, and now I’m afraid I did or said something I shouldn’t have last night. I don’t remember much after I got mad at you for cancelling my appointments, so I apologize if I offended you in any way. I wasn’t in control of myself.”

“Offended me? No, it wasn’t like that at all,” said Thomas, caught off guard. He hadn’t considered that Daniel might not remember his actions from the night before. It would be so easy to brush it under the rug and pretend like it hadn’t happened. 

“Then what is it?”

Thomas had made his mind up and he couldn’t shy away from it now. He needed to tell Daniel the truth.

“I got you upstairs and was helping you into bed. You brought your hand to my face,” began Thomas, swallowing thickly, “and you touched my hair. You looked at me in such a way…”

“Oh, God,” said Daniel, horror dawning on his face. “I thought I’d dreamt that. Thomas, I am so sorry. That wasn’t what it seemed like, I promise you.”

“Daniel, it’s fine,” said Thomas, laying a stilling hand on Daniel’s arm. Then, slowly, he trailed his fingers downward until he clasped Daniel’s hand in his. Thomas’s heart was pounding in his throat and a floating sensation crept through him to the point that he felt dizzy. He needed his next words to be laden with enough purpose that they could not be misconstrued. “Your attentions were not unwelcome.”

Daniel was breathing quickly and his palm was damp. His thumb rubbed gently over Thomas’s knuckles, back and forth.

Then, in an instant, Daniel snatched his hand away as if recoiling from something diseased.

“I can’t,” Daniel gasped. “I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” asked Thomas. The familiar crushing weight of rejection was starting to settle over him.

“It would be wrong. It’s a sin,” Daniel said, sounding like he was reciting words other people had hammered into him rather than expressing his own genuinely-held belief. Like he was convincing himself.

“Do you think your feelings are wrong or acting on them is wrong? Am I wrong for returning them?” asked Thomas.

“I don’t know, maybe all of it,” said Daniel. He was wringing his hands and couldn’t look Thomas in the eye, which only exasperated Thomas further.

Thomas’s sorrow and disappointment was already curdling into anger.

“Then let me ask you this—do you think it’s more wrong than keeping a woman in a loveless marriage with you, both of you sacrificing your happiness for the sake of appearances? Effie knew it was your marriage that was wrong and she’s done you the favor of freeing you from it. There’s nothing standing in your way now.”

“It’s not that simple, Thomas. I can’t risk ruining my reputation, and there are my children to consider. If I was found out, it would destroy them.”

“You’ll destroy yourself if you keep living a lie. But you’ll always find excuses, won’t you?” asked Thomas. His eyes were starting to water against his will. “Whenever your wife spoke ill of you, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I thought you were reserved and shy, maybe a little overly cautious. I never thought you were a coward until now.”

Daniel looked quite as if Thomas had slapped him. It gave Thomas a small thrill of victory in the heat of the moment, but as soon as he was out the door he regretted his words deeply. He walked faster down the street, but he couldn’t outrun the image of devastation on Daniel’s face.

Thomas walked for such a long time that it was starting to get dark. His feet were sore but that was nothing compared to the tight ache in his chest cavity. He fleetingly thought of finding a dirty little bar somewhere, but as soon as it crossed his mind he shot it down. A spiteful fuck with a stranger would not lessen his pain and it was a dangerous thing to pursue when he didn’t have all of his wits about him. What he needed was someone he could talk to. 

A friend. 

***

Thomas shifted himself on the creaking leather chair and accepted the offer of a glass of water.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t care for something stronger? You look like you could use it,” said Philip. He sat down opposite Thomas and casually slung his arm around the back of the sofa.

“I’m sure,” said Thomas. He gulped down half the glass in one go. “As long as you’re sure I’m not an imposition. Your wife doesn’t mind having visitors at this hour?”

“My wife is preoccupied with her own visitor at the moment. I can assure you, she doesn’t mind. Now, are you going to tell me what’s troubling you?”

“It’s Daniel. I think I might’ve ruined things between us.” 

He waited for Philip to make some kind of snide remark, but none came, only a nod for him to continue. And so, Thomas told him the whole story, starting with Effie’s indefinite holiday in Spain and ending with his last cutting words to Daniel.

“I figured he was our sort the first time I met him. I did tell you, I’m rarely mistaken,” said Philip.

“Well, bully for you,” said Thomas. He was beginning to wish he had accepted a stronger drink.

Philip huffed out a laugh. “I actually had a brief affair—this was several years ago now—with a Catholic gentleman. Every time we made love, he’d get out of bed immediately after we finished and go straight to the washroom. He’d fill up the bathtub, get in, and scrub his skin raw.”

“That sounds painful,” said Thomas, although he wasn’t sure it was any more painful than the injections he’d given himself.

“Yes,” agreed Philip. “He made himself bleed once, enough to turn the bathwater pink. I ended things after that.”

“Are you saying it would be better if I let Daniel go? Because I don’t know if I can do that, not completely.” Thomas felt nauseous at the prospect.

“All I meant is that he would have been brought up holding similar beliefs. Religious dogmatism never held much sway over me, but you at least should be able to relate given how your devoutly Anglican sister treated you. Wasn’t her husband a vicar as well?”

“I’d rather not talk about my sister or her self-righteous prick of a husband, if it’s all the same to you,” said Thomas testily. 

“Fair enough,” Philip conceded. He sipped his brandy then twisted to face Thomas more directly. His expression was as soft as Thomas had ever seen it. “Daniel is scared, Thomas. It’s likely he spent his entire life feeling terribly ashamed, as many of us do. He’s also probably suppressed his urges to the point that he’s never experienced intimacy with another man. Then today, you confronted him on it out of the blue. I’m not surprised he reacted the way he did, in all honesty.”

“I was so certain about him, and yet I still found a way to turn everything to shit. I truly am a fool,” said Thomas.

“You’re a romantic,” said Philip, “but I daresay the two coincide more often than not.”

Thomas swiped a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly. “I need to make things right with him, but I’m not sure I can. I don’t think it’s bad enough for him to chuck me out or call the coppers, at any rate, but you never know.”

“I’m positive it won’t come to that. It’s obvious that he cares for you a great deal and he won’t want to lose you any more than you want to lose him. He’ll come around,” said Philip. He was so straightforward and reasonable that Thomas couldn’t help but take his words to heart. “Look at how badly things went for us and yet, here we are.”

“Yes, and it only took us fourteen years to kiss and make up.”

“Quite literally, as it happens, but you know what I mean. Start with an apology and see how he takes it. It’s not something I do very often, but I hear it can work wonders.”

Thomas chuckled in spite of himself.

“I think I’ll do that, if he’s still awake,” said Thomas. He stood and tugged at his waistcoat.

Philip took his cue and led him to the door. “After a row like that, he’ll be awake. How are you getting home?”

“I’ll walk. I’ve got a lot to think about,” said Thomas. “Thank you, Philip. It helped, having someone to talk to about this.”

“It was nothing,” said Philip airily, although Thomas could tell he was touched. “Now really, I must insist you’re driven home. I’ll see if Rogers is available.”

All the lights were off inside the house when Philip’s chauffeur dropped Thomas outside. He decided to head around to the garden so he could make a quieter entrance through the back door. He wondered if he ought to head upstairs to look for Daniel, but when he turned the corner, he found him already sitting on the floor with his back resting against Thomas’s door. His jacket was gone, tie loose around his neck, and his head hung forlornly between his drawn-up knees.

Daniel jumped to his feet when Thomas came into his view. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“Don’t be daft,” said Thomas, with an attempt at a conciliatory smile. He brushed past Daniel to unlock his door. “Will you come in? There’s something I want to say.”

They walked into the middle of the sitting room and stood facing each other in palpable disquietude. Thomas was too nervous to sit down, and it seemed Daniel was as well. Suddenly sweltering and uncomfortable, he shrugged out of his jacket and carelessly threw it over the nearest chair. He then turned back to Daniel, who now had his arms crossed in front of him like a shield.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. I didn’t mean it,” said Thomas.

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you meant it. It was true,” said Daniel with an anguished sort of earnestness.

“You’re not a coward,” said Thomas, “but I do think you’re afraid. I understand that, and I know how real that danger is. I’ve made mistakes that almost cost me my job, landed me in prison, or worse. Even as terrifying as that is, the only thing that scares me more is knowing the alternative is being alone. We don’t choose our nature and we can’t change it, but we can decide how we live with it.”

Thomas paused, mustering what was left of his resolve.

“I want you, Daniel, and I think you want me. I reckon we could find some happiness together, but if you decide not to take the risk, I’ll respect that. You’ll always have me as your friend, no matter what.”

Daniel swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes shone preternaturally bright in the dim room, putting Thomas in mind of moonlight on rippling water. He drew forward with cautious steps until he was so close Thomas could feel the warm tickle of breath on his face.

“I did a lot of thinking, after you left,” said Daniel. His voice was hushed. “May I touch you?”

“Please.”

Daniel caressed along Thomas’s jaw as he had the night before. His hand came to rest against Thomas’s neck and his thumb rasped against the light stubble dusting his cheek. Thomas leaned into the touch, never breaking eye contact with Daniel and tilting his head just so. The invitation was there and all Daniel need do was accept it.

He didn’t dare breathe when Daniel pressed his lips against Thomas’s own, warm and slightly chapped. Eventually, he gained the presence of mind to kiss back, making Daniel whimper when he slid their tongues together. Their kisses grew increasingly more impassioned, hotter, wetter, messier. Every time their teeth accidentally clacked together, Thomas thought it would snap Daniel out of his daze and he would pull back, aghast at what they were doing. But Daniel kept on giving Thomas as good as he got with no indication of second thoughts.

Thomas maneuvered them until he had Daniel up against the sofa. He hadn’t realized how hard he was until he felt Daniel’s own erection through his trousers. Daniel bucked against him at the contact.

“Do you want to keep going?” asked Thomas after pulling his mouth away from Daniel’s. Even as his dick throbbed, he added, “I don’t want you to regret doing something you’re not ready for.”

“Please, don’t stop,” said Daniel, pressing harder into Thomas. His lips were swollen pink and his eyes were still shining. “Don’t stop. I need this, I need you. Please.”

Thomas lifted Daniel so that he was perched on the back of the couch. He wound Daniel’s legs around his waist, grasped his buttocks, and buried his face in the crook of Daniel’s neck. He began grinding himself into Daniel, and after that, everything dissolved into a haze.

Thomas felt as if raw animal instinct had taken them both over. They rubbed against each other in a crude rhythm, lacking in finesse and mounting in desperation. The firm tug of Daniel’s hand in Thomas’s hair and the grip of the other at his back was all the encouragement he needed. Daniel soon tensed and jerked against him, reaching the edge of his pleasure, and Thomas was far gone enough to topple over after him moments later.

Daniel shakily slid off the sofa with Thomas’s help, but they remained clutching one another as their breathing slowed. Neither had bothered to remove any clothing, which was damp with their combined perspiration and sticky with release. They were a complete mess, but Thomas couldn’t bring himself to care. It felt so good to be held.

Thomas spoke softly into Daniel’s ear, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Yes, I’ll stay with you,” came Daniel’s reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it only took about 40,000 words but our boys eventually got there! Thanks for sticking with them. :)


End file.
